Chaos on Galactica: Admiral Atheist
by Misanthropecca
Summary: My very first fic. A retelling of the series, but with a brand new character, who battles painful memories and mental instability in a struggle to find out what her purpose is. The goal is the same, but the events are altered.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is already completed, but I am releasing chapters as I edit them.

CHAPTER 1

I will never understand them. The killings, the deception, the abuse, the corruption. They argue relentlessly that they are justified, that they have good reasons for perpetuating their violent and abhorrent beliefs. It wasn't perpetuation, though. These beings didn't show up on our frakking doorsteps and introduce us to their beliefs. Hell, they didn't even stand on our street corners to perform dramatic rants about how wrong our spiritual lives were. They didn't ask us what we wanted; they told us what we wanted. I, however, know that they are wrong, for I am an instrument of the higher power. I interpret, I preach, I correct. Nothing, though, could have prepared me for the clusterfrak of nukes that were sent to destroy all of humanity. I thought I understood, thought I could explain all the events that had transpired. Over the course of the next few years, amongst all the continued deaths and relentless pursuits, everything that I thought to be constant and true was ripped apart. I realized that I died the day the Twelve Colonies of Kobol were bombed to oblivion, along with the rest of my preconceived notions.

************************************************** ***************************************  
Allergies. What could that woman possibly be allergic to on a battlestar? If they're so bad that she needs to bother the fleet's best doctor, maybe she should avoid the godsdamned botanical cruiser.

Bill Adama sat in his quarters alone, after a lengthy meeting with the new President of the Twelve Colonies. He had taken orders from his mother, his father, the old farts on the Admiralty, and even from his violent ex wife. Never in his life did Commander Adama think that he would ever find himself taking orders from a schoolteacher this late in his life. Adama pushed himself from his desk and sauntered over to his bottle of ambrosia. He picked it up and contemplated it for a moment. The worlds just ended, therefore luxuries such as alcohol would be in short supply. The commander set the bottle back down with a sigh; he better save this for a special occasion, such as the declaration of martial law.

He shook his head at the thought, though he had a small smirk on his face. No, the remainder of humanity deserved much more than a military dictatorship, especially one that would be fueled by a petty superiority complex. Walking to the head, Adama unbuttoned his tunic with one hand while the other hand found solace at the bridge of his nose. Running from the fight had been difficult for him. After fighting in the First Cylon War, chickening out of defending what was left of the Colonies seemed unacceptable.

"The war is over."

Laura Roslin's adamant words rang in his head as he shucked his uniform jacket and looked in the mirror. He had already accumulated a hefty amount of stubble from the day, and his face was still riddled with slowly healing gashes, thanks to a certain cylon. The Old Man switched on the sink and picked up his razor, still frowning at the memory of the President's words. It was one thing to be outranked by the former Secretary of Education, but it was another thing to have that slimy politician be correct. And Roslin was correct.

The razor glided smoothly over his lathered face, and the Commander had to chuckle at the ridiculous situation that he found himself in. If there was any hope for the rest of the human race, then it didn't lie in the deceased Colonies, and it certainly didn't lie in the delicious revenge on the cylons. It lied in their safe escape to another world, even if that world was merely a tool for boosting morale. And of course, it lied in the fertility of the surviving humans.

Water dripped from Bill's chin after rinsing his face. Laura Roslin had only been President for barely two days, and already she increased the fleet population and gained the trust of his own son. Damn that woman.

Before Adama could squeeze toothpaste onto his toothbrush, the comm unit went off. He reluctantly placed the toothbrush back onto the sink and made his way to the comm, quickening his pace when he remembered that he was harboring the lives of whatever was left of his people.

"Adama," he spoke gruffly.

"Sir," Gaeta piped, "a cylon raider has..." there was a brief pause before he began again, "belay that, a group of cylon raiders has jumped into the system."

Adama glanced at his uniform jacket hanging in the bathroom; it was too far out of reach. He turned his attention back to Gaeta and ordered him to scramble the fighters.

"Commander, this is the second time that the cylons have found us. The last time was exactly thirty three minutes ago," continued Gaeta. The Lieutenant was about to say more about the situation, but Adama cut him off.

"I'll be in the CIC momentarily, Mr. Gaeta, and when I arrive I expect a full sitrep."

"Yes, sir," and with a click, the line went dead.

Who frakking cares how long ago the previous raider attacked? Gaeta just liked to show off, always calculating such insignificant figures. Grabbing his tunic from the head, Adama deftly buttoned it up and left his quarters. This was about to be a long ass road trip.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Dr. Sherman Cottle took another long drag from his cigarette as he entered the infirmary aboard the Rising Star. His subsequent exhalation elicited a soft, disapproving look from his medic.

"Don't give me that, Ishay, these people are gonna die at the hands of the cylons before the secondhand smoke gets to them," he grumbled as he approached one of the patients. The young Caprican woman shook her head, and went off to tend to a patient on the other side of the room. Cottle observed the monitor of the patient in front of him. The blonde woman had sustained head injuries from the attacks, and was currently in a coma, but Cottle had given her husband a positive prognosis. Or was it her father? The doctor dismissed his wandering thoughts; it didn't do him any good to think about patients as real people. The woman was nearly unrecognizable anyway.

"Where the hell is Chaos?" Cottle boomed, his voice carrying throughout the sick bay.

"She's in surgery right now; the hull was damaged before the fleet commenced jump 237. We have three injured deckhands, and she's removing shrapnel from the one in critical condition," one of the male medics responded quickly. Dr. Cottle shuffled his way over to a closed curtain and forcefully pulled it open. The two medics aiding in the surgery jumped at his display, almost dropping their tools, but the younger girl with her back to him didn't flinch.

"If you bring that godsdamned cigarette into this sterile environment, I'm going to airlock the rest of your supply," warned the girl, still intent on the task at hand. A noise that resembled a cross between a chuckle and a growl escaped from Cottle's throat.

"Young lady, you're supposed to be in with the orphans. I never cleared you for performing surgery. We don't want a repeat of your little mishap."

Once the last piece of metal shard was removed from the man's spleen, she motioned for the other two men to close up the patient. She turned to Cottle and lowered her mask.

"A mishap implies that the events that took place were an unfortunate accident," she replied, peeling off her gloves, "I knowingly threatened one of your men with a scalpel after he negligently allowed a patient to die on the operating table."

At her words, one of the young men coughed, and Chaos turned her head.

"Cover your frakking mouth, Jamison, this man's chest cavity is exposed, for gods' sake," she snapped. She then turned back to Cottle, who was putting out his cigarette in a tin dish on the tool table. They studied each other for a moment before Cottle spoke.

"I'm the only one here who gets to threaten the medics, and if you decide to take a walk down memory lane with that attitude of yours, you're gonna find yourself on the Prometheus wiping the noses of the trafficked children. If you're gonna skip out on your responsibilities with the children, then why don't you make yourself useful and counsel the attack victims?"

Chaos rolled her eyes at his accusation, knowing that he would never take it to heart. She was too damned good. However, she had become accustomed to Cottle placing her in uncomfortable situations. Forcing her to talk with the other victims would constitute such a situation.

"Doesn't it seem a bit oxymoronic to have a crazy person act as a counselor?" she retorted.

"This coming from a former psychologist."

"Former being the key word here." She pulled off her bloody scrubs and tossed it into the makeshift laundry hamper. Cottle placed an unlit cigarette in his mouth as he watched the girl leave. He hated the fact that all the threats directed at the narcissistic young girl were empty. She was damned good at everything she did, and sending her to some disgusting freighter wouldn't do anyone any good. Maybe it was time for her to let her work in the infirmary. At least before she decided to murder all the children. As the two medics left the deckhand, Cottle adjusted the man's morpha and allowed his brain to wander to the past.

_Chaos had been checked into his hospital with a broken nose, two broken ribs, and a hell of a hematoma on her right hip. Cottle thought the worst when he looked at her; a twenty or so-year-old girl looking this beat up obviously pointed to some sort of domestic abuse. He observed her chart as a nurse proceeded to set her nose. There was no name, date of birth, colony of origin, or anything on the girl's chart._

_ "Well what the hell happened here," Cottle barked at the nurse._

_ "She was just found like this at the Delphi Museum," said the older woman, "like she just appeared there out of thin air."The woman's harsh Aerilonian accent was strong, and it took Cottle a moment to decipher her words. As Cottle scrutinized the girl, a tinge of empathy tugged him. He made a face, disgusted with his feelings, and turned back to the nurse._

_ "You're sure there was nothing else at the scene? No one running away, no weapons, anything?" he asked, composed._

_ "Just that blanket over there, doctor," she stated as she pointed to a blue blanket that was folded over one of the chairs. He approached the material as he pulled on a pair of gloves. The blanket seemed to be made of a sort of wool, and it was stained with what Cottle assumed was the girl's blood. As the nurse busied herself with dressing the open wounds, Cottle opened up the blanket. More blood coated the inside of the throw, and it had some sort of insignia that he didn't recognize. It looked like the letter "M," only it was rotated counterclockwise ninety degrees. The vertices of the shape were dots, and each line that connected them was extremely skinny. It reminded Cottle of the constellation maps he'd see when he worked as a medic in the military._

_ "This is all they found with her?" he asked the nurse, setting the blanket back onto the chair. The nurse nodded, and then left Cottle do the rest of his examination. Great. Why weren't the police on top of this? Some girl shows up looking like this, but because there was no evidence at the scene, they just close the case? Cottle cursed the President for not cracking down on crime, that prick._

_ Some discoloration on her wrists caught his eye, so he set his chart down and lifted her right arm. His eyes were squinting at the mark, which was slightly darker than the rest of her skin. In fact, Cottle figured he wouldn't have even noticed it if her body weren't so pale at the moment. The mark, Cottle thought, was the ancient symbol for the colony of Aerilon. He knew the insignia actually represented the ancient name of the god of war, but the name escaped him. He also noticed a platinum ring on her left ring finger. Damned kids were getting married way too early nowadays. After dropping the girl's arm back to her side, he lifted her shirt in order to look at her bruised ribs._

_ "What the hell happened to you," he mumbled to himself._

The sound of the comm unit brought Cottle back to the present. He yanked the receiver and brought it to his ear.

"What?" he barked.

"Nice to hear that your bedside manner hasn't improved at all," said the deep voice on the other line. Cottle snorted slightly, making sure the cigarette remained in his mouth.

"Nice to see the Commander still remembers that the head of his medical team still exists. When the hell am I getting off this circus ship, by the way?"

Adama exhaled a gravelly laugh, and then continued. "That's actually what I was contacting you for. I need you back on Galactica, along with three of your finest medics. You don't do anyone any good on that party cruiser."

"Thank the gods, I was about to nuke this thing myself if I had to treat another floozy with alcohol poisoning."

The Commander's heavy laugh returned, and this time Cottle joined him.

"One more thing, Major, the President had requested some face time with you. Something about allergies. I have arranged to have you meet with her in an hour, at 0900."

"Yes, sir," replied Cottle. The two men hung up, and Cottle approached Ishay and Jameison.

"You two," he pointed two fingers at them, "we're moving to Galactica. Gather all your possessions and meet me at the hangar deck in twenty." He left the two wide eyed staff members, and made his way to the hangar deck, stopping on his way to grab an insubordinate young doctor.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Cottle and his three staff members arrived on Galactica just in time to treat seven injured pilots. Ishay and Jamison rushed to treat some of the unattended, while Cottle entered his old office. It seemed much messier than he remembered, with files haphazardly thrown around the small room. He couldn't believe how unorganized the medics were in his absence. He went to his desk, which he couldn't really see under all the papers, and opened one of the drawers. Pulling out a box of Picon variety cigars, he looked up to see Chaos standing in the doorway.

"Didn't you take an oath? Go help with the pilots!" Cottle yelled as he lit the cigar.

"Does the Commander of the fleet always observe the goings-on in sick bay?" She inquired, completely ignoring his question.

Cottle closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the savory taste and the welcomed warmth that filled his lungs. For a moment, he was lying in the sun on Altaria Beach, an Ambrosia dry in his right hand. The smell of antiseptic brought him back to sick bay.

"He never comes to this wing. You'd have to shoot him twice to get him down here, why?" he answered, hoping Chaos didn't notice his brief mental lapse.

"Because he's just standing at the entrance, looking...awkward," Chaos scrunched up her face as she uttered the last word. Smoke billowed out of Cottle's mouth as he sighed.

"He's probably looking for me. Now get out of here and find someone to stitch up," and with that he exited his office and approached the stoic Commander. The major saluted him, and then the two men shook hands.

"Sherman, it's good to have you back on Galactica," said Adama. Cottle's cigarette remained in his mouth as he turned to exhale.

"I'm sure it is, what with all the medics butchering simple tasks, like putting on godsdamned Band-Aids."

Adama was used to Cottle's demeanor, and did nothing to quell it. He may be the major's commanding officer, but he and the curmudgeon had been through hell and back. And Adama knew that deep down, under all that tar, Cottle was a big softie who cared very much for his patients. The air around them became somber as Adama spoke again.

"We've already lost twelve pilots; do you think we'll lose any of the seven remaining here in sick bay?"

"I just got here, haven't had a chance to really look at any of them yet. I'll update you as soon as possible."

Adama gave the doctor an abrupt nod, and exited sick bay. Cottle took the spent cigarette out of his mouth, hoping that there was still an ash tray in his office. Chaos was still there, and the old man groaned as he pushed some papers off his desk in search of the ash tray.

"Why are you still here?" he growled as he successfully located the old silver tin.

"How soon until I can go back to the Rising Star?" the girl inquired. She crossed her arms and stood before him while Cottle lit another cigarette.

"I don't know," he puffed, "never, if you don't get out there and do your frakking job."

"Sherman, you can't prevent me from…"

"Yes I can, and I am. Everything will be fine, just get out of my sight."

Chaos huffed some of the inhaled secondhand smoke back into Cottle's face before stomping out of the office. Cottle emitted his own carcinogenic sigh as he watched her leave.

The President of the Twelve Colonies hesitantly entered sick bay. Barely a week ago she had been diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. Why she decided to have another set of diagnostic tests aboard Galactica, she would never know. Laura Roslin was not one to whine about the unfortunate events in her life, either because she was a strong woman, or because she was simply accustomed to unfortunate events. She was greeted by a scatterbrained, bloodstained Cottle.

"Alright, young lady, I have a pilot in critical condition. Unfortunately, that means I won't have time to discuss your test results with you," he threw his dirty latex gloves into a bin, and put clean ones on before continuing, "I'm going to suggest that you allow one of my medics to talk to you about your tests while I finish up, so that you won't have to wait to hear the results." He stood in front of her with his arms crossed, impatiently waiting for an answer.

Roslin stared at him for a moment with unreadable eyes. She found that she was eager to reevaluate her results, and that she was annoyed that the President was being denied face time with the fleet's top doctor. Cottle's gruff voice interrupted her musings.

"My suggestion is slowly turning into an order. You may be the President, but your health is a matter of fleet security," he nodded to his left, "my medic will meet you over there, behind that curtain." Before Roslin could either agree or protest, Cottle had disappeared behind a different curtain.

The President exhaled slowly. She wasn't happy about pushing back a meeting with the captains of the fleet in order to meet with some young, scared, wide-eyed medic. Hopefully none of them would press for details about her medical visit. She released a guttural chuckle as she entered the curtained area. They'll find Earth before the press and the rest of the fleet stopped breathing down her neck. She had barely sat down on the cot when the curtain was drawn and a young girl stepped into the area. Roslin studied her with furrowed eyebrows as the girl closed the curtain.

Her brown, cherry hair was pulled back into a messy bun. She was sporting a long sleeved black shirt that covered part of her neck, even though it was hotter than a Scorpion summer in sick bay. Roslin replaced her contemplative face with her presidential mask as the young woman turned around. Her golden eyes bore into the President as she slowly approached. The girl wasn't smiling, but she wasn't quite frowning either. Laura had to commend the girl for her soft stoicism. She passed Roslin, surprisingly, and headed toward the light screen. As she shoved the images, which Laura had just noticed were in the medic's hands, onto the screen, she switched on the light and turned to the president. An abrupt finger pointing to the blatant mass on the image made Roslin jump slightly.

"This, Madam Prez, is a malignant tumor in your left breast. It's inoperable, but we might be able to shrink the tumor with doloxan. But you already know this, so what sort of voodoo treatment did you read about in Caprican Woman Magazine?"

Roslin listened intently, unable to get a word in edgewise. She wasn't expecting a medic, and such a young one at that, to be so intrusively intuitive. The President was too impressed to even be insulted by the medic's assumption. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes appeared on her face, and she stretched her arm towards the girl.

"I'm Laura Roslin. Would you mind telling me your name?"

The girl slowly reached out to meet the President's hand, though her hesitancy was clearly fueled by confusion rather than shyness.

"Chaos," was her blunt reply.

"Chaos," Roslin repeated, "do I get to know your real name?"

"That is my real name," Chaos seemed to spit her answers at the President, but she was somehow maintaining a respectful tone.

"Alright, Chaos, you're right. I didn't come here expecting new information. I would like to try something other than doloxan for my treatment. And no, I didn't read about it in some trashy magazine."

Chaos switched off the light screen, and then crossed her arms as she looked at Roslin.

"How old are you?" the President decided continued with her interrogation.

"What alternative treatment did you have in mind?"  
"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't answer mine."

They stayed in thick, awkward silence until they were interrupted by Cottle. He yanked the curtain aside, startling the both of them, and placed yet another unlit cigarette in his mouth. He had two charts tucked under his right arm.

"Chaos," he barked, "please tell me you have convinced our president that the only sensible thing to do in her situation is to start doloxan treatment immediately?" Again, he threw his bloody gloves into a waste receptacle, and then pulled the charts from under his arm.

Before Roslin could protest, Chaos piped up. "I disagree, I think that doloxan would be quite counterproductive. What was that treatment you were about to tell me about, Madam Prez?" she grabbed one of the charts from Cottle, and studied it.

"It's Madam President, Chaos, show some respect." he demanded, grabbing the chart back from her.

"Oh, do two syllables really make that much of a difference? And I'm not making her call me 'Dr. Chaos.'"

"Gods," Cottle lit his cig, "and people wonder why the hell I smoke so much."

"Excuse me," interjected the President of the Twelve Colonies, "I'm still here."

Chaos gave a frustrated huff, but Cottle turned to address Roslin. "Yes, I apologize, Madam President," said Cottle as he puffed his cigarette. Roslin became visibly annoyed and waved her hand.

"Do you mind?"

"Not really."

Roslin guessed it would be a waste of breath to argue the health implications of cigarette smoke with Sherman Cottle, so she rightly decided to just continue with her request. "I would like to explore the effects of chamalla extract on my tumor. I assume you two know what chamalla is?"

Cottle didn't even bother to remove the cig from his mouth as he said "Oh, cripes, you're one of those."

"Okay, I've had enough with the disrespect. I am your President, and as such, I feel I deserve much more than your snide judgment. It's my choice if I want to try something other than a treatment that would poison my body, and you two, as a medic and a doctor, should understand that," her voice was full of rage, but she expertly kept it under control. There were a few more moments of silence as Chaos looked at Cottle, and then the President.

"You told her I was a medic?" she broke the silence, and Roslin turned to her while removing her glasses, readying her death glare. It disappeared as Chaos turned and regarded the President. "It's not that we don't respect you, Madam Prez, but you're a patient. We don't see you as a human being, because if we did, we couldn't be objective. Your position already compromises our objectivity. We only have your best interests in mind."

Roslin nodded, squinting her wondering eyes. "Now that I know that the doctor doesn't approve of my idea," her cadence changed when she uttered the word 'doctor,' "what is your opinion of my use of chamalla?"

Doc Cottle rolled his eyes, "I knew I shouldn't have left you, of all people, alone with Laura Roslin. Damned stubborn women," he left the area in a flash, or at least as fast as a man his age was able to move. Laura frowned after him, and then turned to face Chaos, who was smirking at where Cottle had just been standing.

"I think," Chaos started as she drew nearer to the President, "that you should try chamalla. Doloxan will render you unfit to perform your presidential duties. I don't know if anyone has chamalla, but I'll make Cottle find someone."

Roslin smiled again, and this time it was full.

"Thank you, Chaos. Now I need your medical opinion; will the chamalla raise my survival chances at all?"

"No," Chaos answered quickly, "because tomorrow, we're probably all going to be nuked into oblivion by the cylons again."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: To clarify, this chapter takes place before the fall of the colonies. Some chapters will jump back in time, and within the chapter it will be clear whether it is before or after the fall.

CHAPTER 4

Dr. Cottle had been successful in fixing the young girl's ribs, of course. Ribs were easy to fix, at least compared to fixing the mind. He had found more similarly colored designs on the girl's back. Instead of ancient colonial symbols, though, her back exhibited an extremely convoluted delineation that extended from her lower back to just below her neck. The etchings, so to speak, reminded Cottle of twisting vines; they were beautiful, but he had no idea what they represented. At her neck, he found three "x" marks that looked to have been deeply cut into her skin some time ago. They were in a line, the first one starting in the hair at the nape of her neck, and the last one almost touching where the discoloration began. Gang rates in Caprica were on the rise, so Cottle assumed that she was a member of some sort of minority group from Aerilon.

After she woke up from the coma, Cottle quickly learned that this girl was batshit crazy. Most of what she mumbled was nonsensical, but much of it seemed to be quotes from The Scriptures, specifically, from the Book of Sage. Sherman Cottle was absolutely not a spiritual man; in his opinion, religion caused way more problems than it claimed to solve. However, something about this girl had awakened something inside of him, something that he thought to have been completely extinguished. Though it embarrassed him to admit it, this child reminded him of his own daughter. His ex-wife had up an moved to Aquaria, taking their daughter with her.

"And so death ripped off a piece of his soul, as did war, and they crafted a new soul. A soul of corruption. A soul of despair. A soul of malice. And so the gods became angry, and when Democritus refused to cease, life and hope..."

She was in the middle of one of her episodes, mumbling and rocking back and forth, knees against her chest, when Cottle walked in. He had been spending more and more time with the kid, trying to figure her out. She was quite an enigma.

"The soul of corruption. The soul of despair. The soul of malice. It was thrown from the heavens, gathering three part hope and one part life on the way down..." the girl continued. One of the residents suggested having her strapped to the bed, but Cottle disagreed, saying that he didn't think she was that dangerous. He set the book that he was holding in front of the girl as he sat in the chair next to her.

"That's from the Book of Sage, right? You wanna show me what you're babbling about?" Cottle wasn't much of a psychologist, clearly, but he was willing to feel empathetic if it would help this patient. "Maybe it will help you remember who you are?"

The girl stared at him with what initially looked like terror, but it somehow smoothly changed into...admiration? Her expression was much too soft now, and it was scaring Cottle. She placed her fingers on the top of the religious text, stroking the title: "Book of Sage I." After staring down at the cover, she flipped the book open to one of the later pages.

"Love," she whispered, pointing to a passage on the page. Cottle leaned over so he could see what she was pointing to.

"What? Love? As in the Sage of Love?" Cottle was thoroughly confused, but he found himself wanting desperately to understand. Her finger still on the page, the girl turned to Cottle, her golden eyes burning, her hair obscuring parts of her pallid face.

"And the lords anointed a leader to guide the Caravan of the Heavens to their new homeland. And that leader suffered a wasting disease, from which they succumbed and were barred from entering the new land. But not before the dying leader knew love. Knew love. Knew love."

"Now you're quoting Pythia, great, you want me to go grab the Pythian Prophecy for you?" Cottle was growing frustrated, but so was the patient.

"Knew love! But not before the dying leader knew love! I am love!" She slammed her finger down on the page again. Cottle hesitantly leaned in again, this time to actually read the verse above the bony finger:

"And the soul, falling from the heavens, fell to a carrier who bore the new sage. And death created love. Before birth, Allegra gave love to all humans, splitting true and soul. For Allegra is Love."

The girl moved her finger down the page, making sure Cottle read all that she intended him to read. Once finished, he looked up at her.

"I am love," she whispered, "I am love. But not before the dying leader knew love."

Cottle wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to the girl's obviously declining mental state. He should probably nod, pat her hand, and leave. That would certainly be the smart thing to do. Cottle, however, had apparently gotten a lobotomy between this moment and medical school.

"You expect me to believe that you are some deity, thrown down onto Caprica from the heavens? And that you somehow invented the concept of love?" Cottle chuckled in disbelief, but the girl was not amused. She screamed bloody murder, causing Cottle to fall out of his chair. Two male nurses came in to give her a sedative and strap her to the bed.

"No," Cottle grabbed the arm of the nurse, who was holding the sedative, "only the straps. I need her to be coherent." The nurse nodded, and the two men left after the girl was sufficiently restrained. The doctor returned to his spot on the chair, and the patient turned her head to look at him.

"Listen, kid, the only reason I kept you awake was because you recently woke up, and I need to see if you remember anything about the situation that landed you here. Can't you tell me anything?"

She shook her head so fiercely that the entire cot shook with her.

"All of this has happened before, and all of this will happen again! The dying leader will lead the Caravan of the Heavens to their salvation, and grant love to the Thirteenth!" Once she finished her sentence, her body started convulsing. Not wanting to call in a nurse, Cottle grabbed a syringe from the drawer of the bedside table and pushed it into the girl's IV. Her seizure died down after a few moments, and she was once again taken by a deep sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

An inebriated Kara Thrace was sprawled on one of the cots in sick bay. Though her rescue had been a success, it had clearly put a strain on the relationship between the military and the civilian government. Starbuck was contemplating her worth as a pilot and a human being, as well as the pretty lights emitting from the monitor, when Lee Adama approached her bed.

"That was some dumb ass stunt you pulled back there," he said with joviality in his voice. Kara gave him a drugged smile.

"A dumb ass move that not only saved my life, but got you one of your pilots back," she replied with slurred speech. Apollo's face dropped at the words.

"You know I value you as a friend as well as a pilot, Kara, and as a matter of fact, I didn't get my pilot back. I still have to find a godsdamned replacement for you."

Kara began cackling hard enough to make Lee glance around self-consciously. "In fact, maybe that will be your first assignment. Go find me a viper pilot, Lt. Thrace," he continued. This only served to make Starbuck laugh harder, and he soon joined her.

"What the hell is going on here?" Cottle growled as he came up to check Kara's knee. Both of the pilots stopped laughing, but shared an amused look as the doctor did his job. "I'm afraid it's going to be a while before you're shot out a launch tube again, kid. The knee can be a real bitch about healing, so I'm gonna need you to follow my orders and take it easy. Way easy."

"Oh come on, doc, you know I'm a fast healer. Besides, whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

Apollo gave Kara a concerned look, and Cottle continued. "No, whatever doesn't kill you leaves you in my sick bay, taking up space. I want you out of here as much as you do, and in order for that to happen as fast as possible, no exercising and definitely no flying. I can't deal with two stubborn women."

He left the two without an explanation. Kara lifted her pillow up from behind her and screamed into it. "This is such frakking bullshit. Who the hell is gonna cover the nuggets now?"

"Doc's right, Starbuck, we can't just rush you into a viper, otherwise you may never be able to fly again. You can still instruct the nuggets, and I'll be the one to fly with them."

For probably the third time in her life, Kara Thrace was speechless. Almost.

"Right, the CAG is gonna go out there and fly with the newbies. That sounds like a great idea. And just who is gonna lead the CAP, hm? We're a bit short staffed at the moment, Lee. "

Dr. Cottle reentered Starbuck's area with a knee brace and Chaos.

"I know someone who can fly the CAP" Cottle chimed in as he undid all the velcro on the brace. Apollo stood up straighter, and he and Starbuck both stared at him dumbly. Chaos began undressing the bandages on Kara's knee. Neither of the pilots was responding to him, so he continued: "Chaos here was a viper pilot trained at the academy. She's definitely more qualified than the trigger-happy rascals you got up there."

Lee and Kara were silent as they stared at the young girl. She was now glaring at Kara's knee as she finished removing the bandages. Wordlessly, she snatched the brace from Cottle and began roughly fitting it to Starbuck's leg. The pilot winced slightly at Chaos' abrupt movements, and the old doctor moved to push more morpha into her IV.

"Can you prove that? I mean, we could use all the help we can get, but with someone as young as you, we'd just like to make sure that..." Lee finally found his voice.

"Of course not, I'm undocumented. Just like everyone else in the fleet that had to leave their possessions on their now radioactive home planets," Chaos cut the well-built captain off. She had finished fitting the knee brace, and her flaming eyes were now on Cottle. "What the hell are you doing? I haven't flown a viper in years, and you need me here."

He sighed as he pulled out a cigarette and clamped it between his dry lips. Kara was staring pleadingly at the box of cigs, and Cottle rolled his eyes as he handed one to her too.

"She's right, doc, aren't you a bit short staffed? I'm sure her skills are needed here more than they're needed in the air," Apollo spoke again, uncomfortable with the tangible tension between the two doctors. Chaos whirled to face him.

"I'm a genius, my skills are needed everywhere," she snapped. Lee's eyebrows climbed to the top of his forehead as a giggle came from Kara's cigarette-clad mouth. "I'm not getting back in a viper."

Cottle, after lighting both his and Starbuck's cigarettes, frowned so intensely at Chaos that it looked like his jowls were going to fall off his face. He nodded at the two pilots, and then grabbed the girl's arm. Starbuck puffed her cigarette smiled widely. This did not go unnoticed by Lee.

"You aren't seriously considering this, are you?" Lee asked, concern spreading across his features. A high pitched giggle escaped from Starbuck.

"That girl is a frakking bitch. I like her. Get her a godsdamned jock smock."

None of the medics looked up as Cottle dragged Chaos across sick bay. The act was actually quite a regular occurrence, and Ishay and Jamison especially understood how unruly Chaos was and how impatient Cottle could be. Once the two were in the safety of his office, Cottle released her and faced her with crossed arms.

"You and I both know how you get when you spend too much time in this environment," the old man gestured to the central part of sick bay as he blew smoke in Chaos' face. She rolled her eyes and cleared the air with her hand.

"I'm fine, I haven't killed anyone. Yet."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he tapped his cigarette and spread the ashes that had landed on the floor with his foot.

"I was being sarcastic, Sherman," her voice had lowered defensively.

"Your growing negative energy will be much more useful in the cockpit. Besides, you'll get the chance to show off in front of the other nuggets and become the teacher's favorite. And I know how much you love that."

Chaos combated Cottle's condescension with a professionally stoic face.

"I'm going to the Rising Star."

"Fine. If you don't return to Galactica, I'll have the Commander send the marines after you."

She stepped an inch closer to him, and directed her pointer finger to the pile of ashes on the floor.

"That's highly unsanitary," she deadpanned before kicking them over Cottle's shoes and stalking out of his office.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

As if on cue, Chaos arrived at a very busy sick bay. Against her own wishes, Chaos had conceded and decided to climb back into the cockpit of a viper. Though she had graduated from the academy many years ago, and hadn't flown a viper since then, she was able to pilot the craft as if she were born in it. Naturally, her flying ability surpassed that of the other nuggets, even that of Lee Adama, whom Chaos had easily succeeded in impressing. She was still wearing her flight suit when she cantered over to Cottle's office. When he was nowhere in sight, she returned to the center of sick bay and caught Ishay.

"Hey, what the hell happened? And where's Cottle?"

"Suicide bomber, killed three people," that's all the information Layne Ishay gave Chaos before she bolted away. There were tons of people crowding sick bay, but she had yet to spot one person that was actually sick. Finally, she caught a glimpse of Cottle's silver hair in the crowd. She pushed through the cluster of bodies to get to him.

"Doc, what the hell is going on?"

Cottle turned to Chaos, his eyes dark and his face contorted with anger. "Didn't you hear the press conference?"

"Uh, no, I just got off a 23 hour rotation, and my wireless wasn't set to the press conference. Why?"

"President's just told us that the cylons are humanoid. Whole fleet's flipping a bitch right now."

Chaos frowned, and glanced around the room. The suicide bomber must have been a cylon, then, and the President must have decided to tell the fleet now so that they could prevent future incidents.

"That doesn't explain why there is a metric frakton of people in sick bay."

"They all think we have a way of testing blood, figuring out if someone's a cylon or not. I tried getting them the hell out of here but nothing's worked. I hear that Baltar was supposed to be working on some sort of test, but he's not finished with it."

"Baltar? Gaius Baltar? That gasbag survived the attacks?" Chaos burst into maniacal laughter, and Cottle simply stared at her, unlit cigarette balancing on his bottom lip. "That's rich. That's really rich. Where is he supposedly building this cylon detector, anyway?"

"Storage locker 48-92."

"Perfect," she stood up on one of the cots and attempted to address the crowd. "Hey! Everyone! Listen up!"

Some people in the crowd turned to her, but most continued yelling and pushing at each other.

"I know where you can get your blood tested with a cylon detector!"

That sentence caused more people in the wing to quiet.

"Everyone to storage locker 48-92 to get your blood tested!"

At that, everyone piled out of sick bay, leaving only six overwhelmed medics, a pissed off Cottle, and a few very confused patients.

"Problem solved. I'm gonna go talk to Lt. Thrace," she said as she flounced to Starbuck's cot.

"I'd kill that frakking kid if she weren't so frakking useful," Cottle grumbled to himself as he made his way to his office. Chaos found a busy Kara Thrace fussing over some papers that were strewn across her lap.

"Rotations?" Chaos asked once she was standing directly next to Thrace's cot.

"Yup," she replied without looking up, "no trouble on your 6 hour shift I assume? I gave you the shortest one, so that Apollo could pretend to be all official and assess you before we gave you a more intense shift."  
"I just did 23 hours, I'm not tired. I could even go back out there. Unless another cylon bomber decides to infiltrate Galactica again."

Kara looked up from her work. She flashed a confused smile and shook her head.

"I'm sorry; did you just say you completed a 23 hour shift? I can't have my pilots staying in their birds that long unnecessarily; you're wasting yourself on a godsdamned CAP."  
"Isn't the CAG suppose to be working on these, and not an incapacitated lieutenant?" Chaos motioned toward the mess of papers, ignoring Starbuck's disapproval.

Kara winced at the word 'incapacitated' and shoved the papers onto the floor.

"Godsdamned nuggets, thinking they can show off to me by disobeying orders and doing a 23 hour CAP shift."

"You never gave me an order, so I never went against any. You're welcome, by the way."

Before Kara could give Chaos a colorful retort, the new pilot had already exited sick bay. She walked a short ways down the hall until she came to the morgue. Once she entered it, she looked around the room, unsure of what she was looking for. The sound of the hatch closing startled her, and she turned around to see Commander Adama standing there, his hands clasped in front. Chaos stared at him for what seemed like years, until she realized that he was probably expecting her to stand at attention. She was about to simply turn around and continue with what she was planning, but then she remembered a lecture that Cottle had given her about insubordination. And how pissing of the Commander would come with dire consequences. Inwardly scoffing at the pointless lecture, Chaos straightened her back and brought her hand to a salute anyway. She blamed her unwanted compliance on the deep, unforgiving blue of Commander Adama's eyes. He chuckled, and instructed her to stand at ease.

"What exactly are you doing in the morgue, Lt...?"

"Dr. Aerugo, sir," she finished, putting emphasis on her preferred title, "I'm not a lieutenant anymore."

"Ah, Dr. Aerugo, then," he gave her a tight smile. Chaos returned the smile, but with narrowed eyes.

"I believe doctors have full security clearance for the morgue, sir."

Adama tilted his head as he analyzed the girl in front of him. Many of the people that Chaos came in contact with lately regarded her with the same curious facial expressions that the Commander was currently exhibiting. His eyes seemed to be switching between suspicion and curiosity. Though she had just spent almost a day in the cockpit of a viper, her skin still looked flawless, and her hair showed no signs of being greasy. Her golden eyes were beautiful enough to rival Lee's.

"I wasn't aware that medics referred to themselves as doctors nowadays."

Chaos blinked at his comment before responding."I'm not a medic, Commander. I received my MD from the University of Aerilon fair and square."

"Hm. Impressive. Adar must have done more for the educational programs than I thought." They both erupted in thunderous laughter. After regaining his composure, Adama took a few steps closer to Chaos and shook her hand. There was a familiar cadence in the young girl's voice, but Adama shook the thought from his head. She reminded him of every single one of his female pilots, and there was no use having his sentimental side bring up all those who died under his command.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

"I mean, we only just found out that the cylons look like humans. How could they possibly expect me to already have a detection device made?" Baltar continued his rant as Six circled the table, which was filled with miscellaneous lab equipment that had been delivered to him after the mob. Once next to him, she put her hands on either side of his face and stilled his jaw.

"By we, you mean them, right Gaius? Because we both know that you knew about humanoid cylons before anyone else in the colonies did," she gave him a devilish smirk as his eyes widened.

"Of course. Of course. Well I don't know what the hell I'm suppose to do with all this...all this...equipment. It's utter madness! Not to mention, there's no way I'll be able to work in this...this cramped space!"

Six stilled his movements again, this time more forcefully. She pushed him into his chair and straddled him.

"Pull it together, Gaius, you must complete this device."

"Oh and why should I do that? Lemme guess..."

"God's plan," Six finished for him. Baltar threw his arms in the air, his eyes still wide with frustration.

"God's plan. Right. The cylon god wants me to make a cylon detector so that we can find all the cylons in our fleet. Is that what God's plan is?"

Six pushed out her bottom lip at him. "It's not as cut and dry as that, you know. God's plan is intricate, constant, and correct."

"There's a very important piece of information that you're missing, darling. I don't believe in God. Or the Gods. Or anything. It just isn't..."

Just then, the cylon hallucination swiftly rose from her position and slammed Baltar's head into the table. "It doesn't matter what you believe in, because no matter what, God's plan will unfold."

Baltar lifted his head off the table. "I guess this would be a bad time to ask you how the hell you're so sure of all this? I mean, what if I'm right, and there's nothing? That would make you look pretty stupid, wouldn't it?" He immediately got another mouthful of table.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Adama walked over to one of the drawers and pulled it open, revealing the body of Leoben. Chaos was at the Commander's side, examining the cylon. She reached inside the top part of her flight suit and pulled out a small scalpel. Adama gave her a sideways glance.

"Don't tell Cottle," Chaos stated with a smile. She then skillfully incised a square of skin from the dead cylon's left pectoral. Adama watched intently as Chaos freed the skin from the body, and lifted the cut out to eye level.

"I have a theory," she began, gazing with rapt concentration at what was in her hand, "if the cylons were smart enough to perfectly copy human form, and elitist enough to throw a hissy fit and destroy humanity, then maybe they were dumb enough to include regenerative properties in their models. Thus, making it simpler than we thought to distinguish them from us."

Adama nodded imperceptibly, following her gaze to the slab of skin. "And what if they weren't dumb enough?"

"Then we'll just need to search for another flaw in their design. They can't be perfect replicas of humans, because...well, they aren't humans."

"So you're banking of the fact that cylons are dumber than us? Because they've frakked us over multiple times already, and right under our noses," Adama pointed out. Chaos simply smirked.

"No, I'm banking on the fact that they're dumber than me. And the chances of that are very high." Her smile was so warm that he couldn't help but return it, though at a lesser intensity. She stowed the scalpel and skin inside pocket of her jock smock and left Adama alone in the morgue. He then looked back down on the cylon, observing the deep bruises and cuts scattered across its face. The Commander was admiring his own work, he realized, for this was the cylon he fought at Ragnar Station. Touching the cold skin of the Leoben model's cheek, Adama was taken aback at how similar to actual human skin it felt. He sincerely hoped that the young, eccentric doctor would be able to find some differences between the cylon and human skin. Though Baltar, too, was working on a detector, he felt more comfortable with the idea of Dr. Aerugo holding the key to cylon detection. He had only just met her, but Adama trusted her a hell of a lot more than that whack job scientist.

Before returning to his quarters, Commander Adama decided to turn on the morgue's wireless in order to check the progression of the tribunal. He switched it on, expecting to hear Sergeant Hadrian's accusatory voice, but instead his surprised ears caught the serious cadence of President Roslin's.

"We know that Galactica needs all of its deckhands on duty in order to ensure the safety of the hangar deck, but I regret to inform you all that Specialist Socinus has been relieved due to dereliction of duty. He has admitted to negligently leaving the Causeway C door open, which, as you all know, allowed a cylon to penetrate the battlestar..."

Adama switched off the wireless with a bit more force than he intended. He didn't know whether his anger was stemming from the fact that one of his own men caused the death of three others, or from the suspension of his inferior without his knowledge. The whole idea of the tribunal was starting to seem ludicrous to him. He pushed the body back into its place, and left the morgue, intent on disbanding the tribunal. But not before he had a little talk with his deck chief.

Commander Adama was shocked to find that Chief Tyrol was already standing in his quarters. The man turned around as Adama approached his desk, and he stood at attention.

"At ease, chief," Adama snapped as he stood behind his desk.

"Sir, I came here to talk to you about Socinus, I think..."

"Chief, the first thing I need to do here is let you know that these little trysts you've been having with Lieutenant Valerii need to stop. Now."

The chief swallowed the rest of his words and stared at his commanding officer. His eyes then darted around the room, trying to get his vocal cords to work.

"Sir, I..."

"Don't bullshit me, Chief, I'm your commanding officer, I know these things when I see them. I let you guys have your fun, but now three of my men have died, and I have reason to believe that your negligence caused it."

Tyrol swallowed hard again, cursing himself, but also thanking the gods for having such a merciful commander.

"Yes sir, thank you sir," he saluted Adama, and practically ran out of his quarters.

This whole situation pissed Adama off to no end. Relationships between ranks were blatantly forbidden in the military, and he could get in serious trouble for allowing it under his command. Commander Adama, though, felt that no one got to choose who they fell in love with, so he tended to let these things slide regardless of the consequences. Now, though, he saw the magnitude at which the consequences could occur. He felt betrayed by Boomer and Tyrol.

************************************************** *****************

To her dismay, Chaos hadn't gotten a chance to examine her skin sample. Two civilians, a man and a woman, had gotten severely injured in some freak accident involving hatchway air vents. Both patients looked positively flustered, their hair sticking out every which way, and their faces completely flushed. When they were both brought into sick bay, Chaos had already drawn her own conclusions as to how the accident happened. Cottle had been helping the woman with her broken tailbone, and Chaos had just begun to treat the man's leg.

"I...I think I pulled my hamstring, or something," the man had sputtered.

"Then you should probably stretch before performing such activities in such a confined space," Chaos responded, and both of the patients blanched immediately.

After that snide comment, Cottle banned her from going near either of the patients. Babysitting the injured and angry Kara Thrace was her job for the time being.

"Come on, kid, isn't there any way you could get me some ambrosia? Or something? I hear the Chief's started some sort of distillery, though, too. Hey, are you listening to me?"

Chaos had been staring towards where the couple was being treated, but she was now turning her head to give Thrace a blank look.

"This is so below not only my ability level, but also my intelligence level," she sighed. Kara scoffed at her comment.

"If you're such a genius, why don't you figure out a way to get me out of here?"

"I'm not gonna risk an angry Cottle just so you can get drunk. You see how Cottle acts normally; you don't want to see him when he's actually in a foul mood."

"Gods, why the hell is Cottle the only person you choose to listen to? What if you let me go for a really good reason?"

"Does this 'good reason' involve seeing Captain Apollo? If so, then no."

Kara's frustration was growing with each word that came out of Chaos' mouth. "What is it with everyone and thinking there's something going on between Lee and me?"

"I was actually referring to the fact that seeing him would somehow mean you climbing into a viper, but yeah, I guess that kind of exertion would be forbidden as well," Chaos said with a completely serious face. Starbuck slammed her right fist on the table beside her cot.

"Godsdamnit, kid, if you don't get me out of here..."

"Why do you always call me kid?" Chaos interrupted, "you don't even know how old I am. For all you know, I could be an old lady who just exfoliates well."

Kara's booming laughter radiated through the entire wing, and possibly throughout the entire ship. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek with her pointer finger.

"I'm gonna save you some embarrassment and pretend you never said that. Really, though, I need to get out of this frakking bed. The deckhands are having a bitch of a time figuring out how the captured raider works. Can't I just go down there and, I don't know, yell at them for being frakking idiots?"

Chaos thought for only a moment. "Fine, as long as you strain your voice and not your knee, deal?"

"Deal," Kara squeaked, suddenly giddy.

"Wheelchair or crutches?"

"Crutches."

"Wheelchair it is."

Once a livid Kara Thrace was wheeled out of sick bay, Chaos was approached by a very annoyed Dr. Cottle.

"As much as it pains me to do so, I'm leaving you in charge of sick bay for the next few hours," he grumbled, uncharacteristically keeping his cigarette unlit.

"Really? Got a hot date on Cloud Nine or something?" Chaos replied as she straightened up the now vacant cot.

"No, the President collapsed at her desk, so now I have to get my ass over to Colonial One. Don't you ever listen to the wireless?"

"No. How are people gonna know that I'm an actual doctor, then, if all I have are these lowly scrubs?"

"I don't know, wrap yourself in a white sheet from the laundry room and slap a name tag on it."

"They'll mistake me for a patient if I wear that," she frowned, "let me wear your lab coat."

"Absolutely not, have you completely lost it? No way I'm gonna let my loose-cannon doctor parade around in my coat."

"You're right, people will just come here with emergencies, looking for the doctor, but I'll just be invisible to them," Chaos stated with mock disappointment.

"That doesn't mean you can't treat them, just assert yourself like you damn well do with everything else," he finally reached into his coat and grabbed his lighter.

"I don't think the President will appreciate that," Chaos indicated his action of lighting the cigarette.

"She'll live," he regretted the words as they left his lips. He looked to the ground for a moment, and then looked back at Chaos with stoic eyes.

"You know, I was suppose to go to the Rising Star in a few minutes. As you know, I have some very important business to take care of. You're gonna have to leave Ishay in charge. I'm sure she can handle it, though. She's only cried twice since we relocated to Galactica. Either than, or…"

"Fine, kid, you can wear my godsdamned coat if it'll make you shut the hell up so I can get outta here."

Chaos smiled so widely that it almost made Cottle return it. He reluctantly peeled off his lab coat and tossed it at Chaos.

"I'm keeping the cigarette, though," he muttered, leaving the wing with his medical bag. Chaos put on the white coat with a victorious smile, and turned around to find Lee Adama standing right behind her. Her face dropped at first, but then quickly turned into an almost seductively warm smile.

"Are you two related?" Lee blurted with a puzzled half-smile.

"No, we aren't, why?" Chaos hummed, still smiling at the CAG.

"I don't know, I guess I figured the only way he'd cave for someone is if that someone were his granddaughter," they both chuckled at the idea.

"How do you know I'm not just an unusually charming person that no one can say "no" to?" she asked once her laughter had subsided. Lee suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable again, and he cleared his throat before stating his original intentions for visiting sick bay.

"I came here to see Lt. Thrace, but her cot's empty. I wasn't aware she would be cleared for duty so soon."

"I didn't clear her for duty, I just told her she could go to the hangar bay and help with the raider."

Lee frowned then, and Chaos decided that the look of a petulant child suited him well.

"Where's Cottle?" he inquired suddenly.

"He's on his way to Colonial One; apparently the President fainted on the job. Any questions you have can be directed to me."

"I really need to speak to a real doctor."

Chaos gave an overly exaggerated gesture to the lab coat she was wearing. "You're speaking to one," before she could hit him with a rude remark, a hysterical mother ran into sick bay holding a toddler. Chaos silently commanded one of the medics to calm down the mother and get the baby behind a curtain. She then turned back to Lee donning an austere expression.

"Lieutenant, this is a serious matter than involves my best pilot. And as one of my pilots, you..."

"Whoa, hold on there, I'm not a lieutenant, do you see any pips on my collar?"

"If you really did graduate from the academy, then that's the rank you'd hold."

"I'm not in the military anymore. And I don't have time to argue with you, Captain; I have more important things to take care of. In this sick bay, I am not your inferior. Now get out of here, you're taking up space." Lee just stood there, rooted to the spot, as Chaos went to tend to the child. He inhaled deeply, telling himself not to let what the girl said get to him. He was failing miserably.

************************************************** ********************************

"If I had a cubit for every time a godsdamned patient thought taking more meds would lead to a speedier recovery..."

"You'd be broke, because all your money would have disintegrated in a nuclear holocaust," Roslin interrupted Cottle. He simply harrumphed. He wasn't sure whether he was pissed that she was so damn stubborn, or that he wasn't currently puffing on a cigarette.

"You need to rest, Madam President, we can't have the leader of our race overdosing on her meds," he stated, deciding not to retort.

"That's simply not an option, doctor, in fact I need to get to Galactica right away," her eyes had softened from the glare that previously covered her face, and she shifted her position on the couch. Cottle released a heavy sigh.

"I guess it would be useless for me to tell you that not heeding my advice is not only irresponsible, but it pisses me off to no end?"

An earnest smile unexpectedly made its way across the Presidents ashen face.

"That would be correct."

He grumbled something unintelligible as he reached into his bag, and began readying the shot.

"That medic of yours, Chaos?" she said in a questioning tone.

"She's not my medic, she's a doctor. Dr...Aerugo."

Roslin tilted her head and chuckled slightly through her nose.

"Well I guess the colonial educational programs weren't in as bad a shape as I thought," her chuckle had turned into an infection giggle. One that only Cottle had immunity to. "And is she your granddaughter?"

The doctor let out what Roslin assumed was the equivalent of hysterical laughter for Cottle. His eyebrows were knitted into a frown, and the sound coming from his mouth was somewhere between a laugh and a cough.

"No, Madam President," he was finally able to choke out, "I'm nowhere near related to that lunatic," he pulled some clear liquid into the syringe, fully stifling his laughter so as not to spill its contents.

"But you've known each other for a while?"

Cottle's face suddenly became solemn, and Laura felt as if she stepped over some sort of line. He took a deep breath before he spoke. "Yes, I've known Chaos for quite some time."

Roslin gave him a sad smile before offering him her bare arm. The solemnity of his face dissipated just then.

"Unfortunately, it's not that kind of shot."

The President gave him a calculating look as she lowered her arm.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Chaos sat in Cottle's office, spinning in his chair. She made quick work of the toddler, who had been running a fever and had bloody urine. The poor kid only had two pairs of training underwear since his family only planning on spending two days on Galactica for the opening of the museum. Chaos had instructed the mother to change and wash his undergarments at a much higher frequency. In the midst of her thoughts about short supplies, and the consequences to come, she caught sight of the skin sample resting on the counter. She had finally had the good sense to take it out of her flight suit and place it in a glass vial. Once she halted her spinning, she picked it up and left the room. One of the medics approached her right as she exited Cottle's office.

"Dr...uh...Chaos?"

"What?" she moaned irked that the medic, Cavay, had interrupted her mission. He was a jittery fellow, and his platinum blonde hair stuck out at every odd angle. Cavay was so tall that Chaos had to squint up at him under the bright lighting in the sick bay.

"Doctor Cottle has asked me to let you know that he has found someone who has chamalla, and that you must fetch it and bring it to the President."

Chaos rolled her eyes like a frustrated adolescent. "She just overdosed on her cancer meds, she clearly doesn't need to add hallucinogens to her system," she was half-joking when she said it, but Cavay didn't smile. What a characterless scrooge. "And why the hell do I have to play the frakking messenger in this? That's your job, you're the medic."

"Doctor Cottle told me that you, specifically, must fetch the substance from Priestess Elosha," he responded hurriedly.

"Of course he did," she sighed. "Ishay!" she called out, causing Cavay to jump back. In an instant, the young Caprican was standing in front of Chaos, next to Cavay.

"Yes?" she asked, her eyes wide. Chaos put the vial between her teeth and shucked the lab coat, shoving it into Ishay's chest.

"You're the boss. Be back later," she said, her words muffled from the vial. As she left the wing, she cursed herself for leaving all her possessions on the Rising Star. She didn't bring much with her, she was only suppose to spend the day on the cruiser. She was tired, though, of wearing her unwashed scrubs everywhere. Luckily, the undershirt she was wearing was black, so no one would really notice the dried blood that had inevitably gotten on it. The precious President of the Colonies would have to wait for her meds, for Chaos was desperate to take a look at the cylon's skin.

As she rounded the corner to storage locker 48-92, she stopped in her tracks. Dr. Baltar was nowhere to be found, and instead there was a dark skinned, curly haired man sitting at his lab bench. She closed the space between her and the man, and leaned in to see what was on the screen. The man sensed her presence over his shoulder, and jumped when he turned to face her.

"What the hell are you doing, this is a restricted area!" he exclaimed, almost falling off the chair.

"Maybe you should have closed the hatch, then," Chaos retorted. She studied the picture on the screen; it looked like Dr. Baltar...but there was something off about the picture. "Is that suppose to be Gaius Baltar?" she continued. The man composed himself, and stood. A lieutenant, perfect. Another military man to be patronized by.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, ma'am," he told her, his chin high and his back straight. Chaos waved her right hand at him in a condescending manner.

"Ma'am? Who says ma'am anymore? Just answer my question."

Lieutenant Gaeta gave a frustrated sigh. Everyone was always ordering him around, expecting him to do the impossible. He really didn't appreciate being talked down to by some insolent teenage girl.

"Yes," he relented, "this is supposed to be Gaius Baltar."

"Hmm," Chaos pushed her bottom lip out.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Short chapter, takes place before the fall.

CHAPTER 8

Cottle waved off the greetings from his staff as he walked through the hospital. That was the biggest problem he had with working at a hospital as oppose to in the military; the informality. These nurses were all too damned smiley and bright. His medics would never have thought twice about saying so much as 'good morning' to him. He thought that grounding himself and working in a hospital instead of a battlestar might patch things up between him and his wife. Shitload of good that did him, coming home to an empty house, with a half-assed goodbye from his wife in the form of a petty note left on the counter. Cottle clutched the Book of Pythia tightly in his calloused hands as he made his way to his deranged patient. He stepped into her room cautiously to find her sleeping soundly. After placing the text on the small table next to the cot, he gingerly shook her shoulder. The girl's eyes opened lethargically, and widened at the sight of Cottle leaning over her. She jerked into an upright position, glancing frantically around the room.

"I'm in the hospital?" her speech was rapid, and Cottle sat next to her, making no motion to comfort her.

"Yes. And you're safe now. Do you know why you're here?"

The girl looked at the ceiling in thought, and then answered more articulately:

"No...I...I have no clue;" she leaned a bit to examine the hematoma on her hip, and then delicately touched her bruised nose."Where did you find me? I hope I killed whoever did this to me," she winced.

Cottle was completely taken aback by her change in demeanor, but he didn't show it. Quick recoveries weren't too uncommon anyway.

"Delphi Museum. You were the only one found in there, and after the museum was closed. No people, no weapons, no nothing. Just you."

"Delphi Museum...wait...I'm on Caprica?"

"Yes, in Caprica General."

She closed her eyes hard, as if trying to will herself to remember something, remember anything, but to no avail.

"I can't remember anything," she sighed, "I don't even know how I got on Caprica."

It eased Cottle's mind a bit to hear that the girl, at least, knew that she wasn't from Caprica. "Most people don't remember their trips to Caprica. Binge drinking seems to be a popular pastime here."

The girl gave Cottle a smile, appreciative of his humor, but she maintained a hint of disappointment. Her gaze traveled from Cottle's stoic eyes to the book sitting on the table.

"Been praying for me?" she mocked, her smile stretching into a grin. Cottle expelled a gruff, his calculating eyes still on the girl. The color had returned to her face, and he noticed that her skin was actually slightly darker than the average Caprican.

"You're the one that's been quoting the damn thing since you were admitted."

Her face dropped almost imperceptibly, and she took the book off the table and placed it in her lap.

"How long ago was that?"

"Three days. Been mumbling words from all the Books of Sage as well."

She looked down at the book, her face unreadable. Breathing a small chuckle, she looked back at the doctor. Cottle felt a bit cumbersome under her gaze, like this crazy chick was staring straight into the crusty depths of his soul.

"I don't even remember reading the Books of Sage. I remember parts of the Pythian Prophecy...but that's it. I also remember who I am. Like, where I'm from, and some random memories about my life. I just don't know my name, and I don't know how I got here."

"Well, the last time I was here, you tried to convince me that you were the Sage of Love. Allegra, or something."

"I did?" she asked, her face contorting.

"Yes. After you showed me a passage from the first Book of Sage."

The girl stared at the wall on the other side of the room, squinting in deep contemplation. Her eyes then dropped to the tome in her lap, and she opened it up. She stopped on a few select pages in order to skim through them, and then quickly slammed the book shut. "Don't call me that," she suddenly stated, making Cottle intensely suspicious.

"Come on, kid, what do you know that you're not telling me?"

"I've already told you everything that I remember," she told him, her golden eyes holding his gaze.

"It's time for you to give me an explanation for your random fits of quoting the Book of Sage. Yesterday, you were flipping the frak out, and now, you're perfectly coherent."

"Well, you're not going to get an explanation. I've never read any of the seven Books of Sage, and if I did, then I don't remember. I do remember being a member of an atheistic group, so I'm sure my name definitely doesn't come from the Scriptures," her previously nonchalant tone had morphed into an adamant one.

"Whatever," Cottle grunted, "what's really important is figuring out how the hell you ended up in the museum." He frowned at the girl's indifferent shrug. "Aren't you at all curious as to what the hell happened to you?"

"Not really. Some things in this world are just inexplicable. That's where religion comes in, it serves to explain what can't be proven," she patted the cover of the Book of Pythia. The doctor was uneasy with the direction their conversation was going. He cursed himself for not checking for a concussion when she was admitted.

"Religion only serves to cause divisions in our very own race. People can do and think whatever they want, but religion does far from explain the inexplicable. And didn't you just say you came from some atheist cult?"

"I never said it explained the inexplicable, I said it served to explain the inexplicable. Science and logic should always come first, and those strive to help us understand the way the universe works. But until we know everything about everything, which will never happen, I assure you, religion is here to simply fill in the gaps. Atheism has nothing to do with it."

Cottle certainly wasn't expecting a religious debate when he came into work today. Time for that head examination.

"Where are you from, then, no-name?" he questioned as he took her head in his hands and gently turned her face toward his.

The girl's face lit up, welcoming the change in subject.

"Aerilon. I grew up in Promethea." Her eyes followed the finger that he was moving in front of her face.

"At least you remember where you're from. Do you remember who gave you that ring?" he pointed to the shiny band around her left ring finger. She lifted her hand and stared at if for a moment before shaking her head slightly.

"No, I have no idea."

"Hm," he took a small flashlight out of his coat pocket and shined it in her eyes. Her pupils seemed normal. "Well, anyway, you have a different accent than normal Aerilonians. It sounds Caprican, but somehow different."

"It's how the Aerilon upper class speaks."

Cottle burst into laughter at her comment. First impressions may not be everything, but she assumed that laughs like this didn't come from him very often.

"I wasn't aware there was any such thing as an upper class on Aerilon," he spoke after he had, for the most part, composed himself. It was now the patient's turn to laugh hysterically.

"Yes, it is a generally impoverished colony," she wiped evidence of her fit from her eyes, "but Promethea has a rich educational culture, and is also the home of the Aresian Elite," her features brightened as the last two words left her lips, "That's it! That's the group I was a part of, the Aresian Elite."

Cottle internally balked at her mention of the Aresian Elite. It was a very ancient group, and although he didn't really know much about it, he could have sworn it had been dissolved or something long ago. He did know that they were full of crazy followers, so if the cult still secretly existed, and this girl was a member, then Cottle bet they had something to do with her battered state.

"Ah, is that what those weird markings on your wrist are from?"

"I assume so...though...I don't...I don't know why they would mark me with the symbol for a god," she answered as she looked down at the markings. It was true that, in general, marking children was characteristic of religious extremists, but Cottle decided to press anyway.

"What about the markings on your back? And the slash marks on your neck?"

At his question, she reached behind her and rubbed the x's that marked her neck. She was visibly upset, now, and he actually regretted asking. They seemed to generate some very negative feelings in her. Feelings that were impossible to understand in her current amnesic state.

"I'm an atheist," she said out of the blue. She glared into her lap, keeping her hand on the back of her neck.

"Yeah, I pieced that one together when you told me you associated with an anti-religion cult."

"I don't think there are gods or even a single god," she continued, letting his remark fly by her, "I don't even like considering the idea of spiritual beings, but sometimes I just get these...these incomprehensible thoughts," she was using exaggerated gestures now. The friendly expression on Cottle's face only added to her confusion.

"It's not necessarily a bad thing to be cynical and misanthropic. I think we'd get along quite well." His comment seemed to calm her a bit.

"I'm telling you this because I've been having some really freaky dreams. Dreams that are making me question what I believe in. Or what I don't believe in, rather. Is there...could you get me a notebook or something so I can write them down?"

Cottle was both perplexed and fascinated by the patient. Some of the things she'd mentioned about religion, though, were mildly disconcerting to him. Although she didn't seem mentally unstable, Cottle still felt the need to draw up an explanation for her bizarre ramblings. The conclusion that he hastily came to involved hard drugs, but it was tough for him to imagine this kid injecting poison into her veins.

"Yeah, sure, I can do that," he got up to leave, but stopped once he reached the door. "Oh, before I forget, do you recognize this? You were found in it, and no one here knows what the insignia on it means." He crossed the room and picked up the blanket that was still resting on the chair. After unfolding it, he held it up so that the design was visible to her.

"No, doesn't look familiar..." her voice trailed off as she noticed the spots of blood that riddled the blanket, "is that my blood?"

Cottle nodded as he tossed the blanket back onto the chair.

"Yup. Don't know why none of the nurses thought to wash the frakking thing," he grumbled, returning to her bedside.

She smiled at him. "Do you think there's something to any of this stuff at all?" She indicated the Book of Pythia again. Cottle shook his head.

"I'll believe the crap in the Scriptures when those Greystone robots develop feelings and declare war on us."

And with that, he practically dashed out of the room before they could have another heavy discussion, leaving the girl to ponder his seemingly irrelevant words.


	9. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

Gaeta and Chaos were now both working tirelessly on exposing the truth about the photo of Baltar.

"If you look closely, the reflection on the window is slightly taller than Baltar in this picture," Chaos pointed out, bringing a slender finger up to the screen.

"How can you even notice a minute detail like that?" Gaeta had followed her finger with his eyes, and was now squinting desperately at her observation.

"It's called being a genius," Chaos replied absentmindedly as she continued scrutinizing the monitor. Gaeta's face scrunched up before he glanced back at the screen.

"Oh my gods," Gaeta said suddenly.

"What is it?"

"I..I've seen this exact same picture of Baltar before. Not this one, specifically, in this setting, but I know where this shot of him is from."

Working fast, he pulled up some government archives on the computer and looked through them. Chaos watched the screen, curious as to what had cause Gaeta's epiphany.

"There," he stated excitedly, pointing at a picture of Baltar. It was a candid picture from a symposium for the Colonial Defense systems, and the doctor was standing in the exact same position as he was in the fabricated picture.

"Good call. It even explains why he's holding a bomb. He was just demonstrating some new device, right?"

The breathless lieutenant quickly printed both of the pictures, and then turned to the young doctor. With a wild smile on his face, he quickly thanked Chaos, and then ran out of the lab to inform Baltar of his innocence.

Glad to finally be alone, Chaos sunk into a chair in front of one of the microscopes. She extracted the sample, and placed it on a slide with a cover slip. Her hands were shaking as she adjusted the magnification, and she didn't really understand why she was so excited. She realized that she was just insanely curious as to how the cylons were able to almost flawlessly replicate human appearance, emotions, and functions. Once she reached an acceptable magnification, Chaos sat and analyzed the skin. To her disappointment, it was utterly indistinguishable from human skin. She tore her eyes away from the sample, feeling a bit defeated. What she really needed to do was observe the skin on a cellular level. While she glanced around the room, seeing if Baltar had the good sense to own a much stronger microscope, someone appeared at the hatch way. It was a very tall blonde lady, and her eyes behind her thin-framed glasses widened at the sight of Chaos sitting in the lab.

"Can I help you?" Chaos asked in a rude tone. Without answering, the woman started toward her. Chaos backed away, readying herself for a fight, but the stranger unexpectedly stopped directly in front of her.

"May I...may I see your arm please?" pleaded the woman. That definitely wasn't what she was expected the lady to say, and Chaos' face contorted in confusion.

"My arm? Why?"

"I would just like to see something, please."

Chaos had absolutely no clue as to why some random woman wanted to look at her arm, and she was about to just oblige, but she stopped short.

"No. And I think you should leave now, please, this is a restricted area."

The woman was upset with this answer, and she edged slightly closer to Chaos.

"Why was the door open then?"

Damnit. That idiot Gaeta didn't shut the hatch on his way out. Before Chaos could give a smart ass comment, the woman reached out and grabbed Chaos' arm. She was unusually strong for someone thin enough to be almost two-dimensional, and Chaos was unable to free herself. Blondie yanked up the sleeve and her eyes widened, again, at the symbol on her wrist. Chaos swore under her breath as the lady backed away from her.

The woman bolted out of the storage locker before Chaos even had a chance to process what just happened. Chaos pulled her sleeve back over her wrist and rubbed her eyes. Discovering the physical difference between humans and the humanoid cylons would have to wait; it was time for the atheist to pay a visit to a priestess.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Roslin returned to Colonial One exhausted, and more than ready to climb into her uncomfortable cot and catch at least an hour of sleep. Sleep, along with other amenities that were formally taken for granted, was now a luxury. She was surprised to find Dr. Cottle still in her private living space. So surprised, in fact, that she yelped slightly at the sight of the old man half-sleeping on her couch. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Relax, young lady, I'm not here to seduce you, I assure you."

With her hand over her racing heart, Roslin managed a nervous chuckle, though his comment did not amuse her.

"Did you stay here so that you could repeat your lecture about taking it easy? And don't you have a sick bay to run?"

"That, and the couches on this luxury liner are infinitely more comfortable than my office chair. I have a whole team of medics over there; I figured I could catch a godsdamned break."

At that, Laura gave a genuine smile as she sat next to him on the couch. She understood that almost all other members of the fleet either had less comfortable or zero living arrangements. Her tiny cot didn't seen so bad, all of a sudden.

"Actually, I have an idea that I'd like to run by you. I know you're probably going to be against it, but I thought I'd give it a try. Maybe that logical politician's brain of yours will help you come to your senses."

The President tilted her head and contemplated the doctor's words.

"I know you're against my desire to do chamalla, but..."

"It's not about that," he nonchalantly waved his hand. Damn, he needed a cigarette. This was the longest he had gone without the sweet nicotine in quite some time. "I wanted to discuss psychological help."

President Roslin's eyebrows furrowed and unfurrowed a few times before she slowly removed her glasses with one hand.

"Doctor, I appreciate your concerns. I really do, but..."

"I don't want my concerns to be appreciated, I want them to disappear. Listen, lady, the President of the destroyed Twelve Colonies must be taken care of. Like I've said before, it's a matter of fleet security."

"I don't want your resources to be wasted on me just because I hold office. There are almost fifty thousand people out there who need just as much help, if not more. And that number goes down a lot more often than it goes up."

"I understand your apprehension, Madam President," he kept reaching into his pocket, as if a pack of cigarettes would magically appear there. The President smiled, and an abrupt breath escaped from her nose.

"Am I really that crazy of a former schoolteacher-turned-politician that you think I need psychological help?"

Cottle smirked. At least the tension in the air had expended a bit.

"No. Though I do think you're crazy for making a conscious decision to become a politician."

Laura rolled her eyes with a smile and allowed him to continue.

"Cancer patients tend to have a lot of baggage to carry; I hate to bring it up, but dying isn't something that someone should have to go through alone. Especially if that someone is the frakking leader of the remainder of humanity. If it makes you feel better, think of this as an indirect way of benefiting the citizens. The better you feel both physically and mentally, the more diplomatic and personable you'll be. I'm not saying you aren't diplomatic and personable now, I'm just warning you that, over the course of the next few months, those good qualities of yours are going to start to diminish."

This was the first time since the attacks that she was faced with her own mortality. At her visit to sick bay, neither Cottle nor Chaos had brought up the fact that her death was inevitable, and soon. She thought back to the dark time in her life when her mother was dying of the very same disease. Roslin blinked back tears, refusing to cry in front of the abrasive doctor.

"I had to sit on the sidelines and watch my mother waste away. I wouldn't wish that on anyone else, and I certainly don't want to have some poor psychologist saddled with the responsibility of doing the same for me."

Cottle reached out to the hand resting in Roslin's lap and covered it with his own. His empathy was showing, and he felt exposed, but hell, everyone had to make sacrifices for the stubborn woman in their life.

"I have someone in mind, and it wouldn't be a burden for them. In fact, you'd be helping them out on their journey for self discovery," Cottle gave a short guffaw, and the sight made Roslin feel at ease. "At first, it may be a bit stressful for you, but this person is a genius and a pro at what they do. Though it won't be readily observable, she's the most understanding and empathetic person left in the universe."

Laura Roslin couldn't help but feel like she already knew who she would be forced into spending more time with.

"You know who I mean, so I'm going to give you some information about her, and some pointers for dealing with her."

In Roslin's opinion, Cottle was being a bit overly dramatic, maybe even overprotective, but she gave him her full attention anyway."

"Rule number one: don't ask her about the ring."

All the civilians on Galactica had to be squeezed into the starboard hangar bay, which was intended to be the museum. Chaos walked rigidly through the crowd of people, trying desperately not to touch anything with any part of her body. She finally spotted her destination; a ratty red tent with wooden beads at the entrance. Tent was a bit of an exaggeration, for the structure looked more like a fort that a five year old would have built out of dirty blankets. At five feet, eight inches, Chaos had to lean a considerable amount in order to enter the tent without hitting her head. She stayed just in front of the entrance of the tent, hesitant about going any farther. The musty air in the tent smelled of a pungent herb native to Gemenon. There was another strong smell that stung Chaos' nose; chamalla extract.

"Hello? Who's there?" traveled the smooth voice of a woman somewhere in the back of the tent. Instead of announcing her presence, Chaos slowly made her way into the depths of the tent. She had to push back some sheets before she was standing in front of the priestess. She was sitting down behind a round table shrouded in an ornate cloth. The lady smiled widely at Chaos, who was looking a bit stolid.

"I'm Elosha, and you must be Chaos. Please, sit," her speech was soothing, and she indicated the pillow on the opposite end of the table. Chaos squinted at her.

"I'm only here to get the President's medication. That's all," she stated. This only made Elosha's smile expand, but Chaos held her ground.

"I doubt that very much, but either way, I would like to speak with you about the chamalla extract."

"I already know the side effects, I'm a doctor." Chaos' stinging tone was having no effect on the woman, and it was starting to get to her.

"The fact that you are not believer in the gods, Chaos, does not negate their existence. There is proof of their existence all around us."

Chaos was really not in the mood to argue religion with a priestess, so she gave in and lethargically attempted to make herself comfortable on the small pillow. Elosha twisted her body to grab a tattered religious text from a pile behind her. She wiped some of the dust off the cover, and then placed it on the table so that the title was facing Chaos. The Book of Sage VII: Love. Chaos' gaze fell to the book, but her eyes remained unreadable. Elosha reached out and turned to a page in the book.

"Please read this verse," she tapped a thick finger in the middle of one of the pages.

"I'm well versed in the Scriptures, and I don't need any religious counseling."

"I'm sure you are. Please read," she tapped the page again. Cottle's lecture about respecting those around her rang in her mind. If she refused to read the godsdamned passage, and sparked a fight with probably the only carrier of chamalla, she'd be airlocked for sure. Chaos leaned in so as to read the passage:

"Allegra took to the stars, entering the Caravan of the Heavens. For the ascension of the celestial asterisk brought her, so that the dying leader would know love. And love would aid her. And love would aid humanity. And love would spread to all. For love is involuntary. And love is unstable. Hidden in the belly of the beast, she knows true and soul."

Chaos finished the passage and looked up at the priestess. Did this lady's smile ever disappear?

"Thank you, Chaos. I like to choose a sort of 'Passage of the Day,' and that one was today's. I assume, since you're so well versed, that you know that Pythia foretold a Caravan of the Heavens," Elosha closed the book with the utmost care. "I truly believe that the Scriptures predict cycles and roles that must be fulfilled, and that we are currently filling the role of the Caravan of the Heavens. Do you have any questions?"

Chaos made a mental note to work on not allowing her curiosity to seep into her facial features.

"Do you have any books on the cylon god?" she blurted without really thinking.

Elosha mouth turned down and her eyes had become slits. It wasn't so much suspicion as it was inquisitiveness as to why a young girl was interested in the monotheistic cylon religion.

"I have no written material, but I do know some verses, if you trust me to remember them. They originated from the Soldiers of the One, which, as you may know, was a terrorist group."

Chaos nodded. "Are there any verses that speak of...I don't know, something in their religion that the cylons would fear?"

"Like some sort of punishment? Or location?"

"No, like, some sort of deity. I'm not sure, I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no, no, asking questions is always a positive thing. They are always welcome, no matter how difficult and confusing they are."  
Elosha's smile had returned, and her hand reached out to touch Chaos'. The girl used every ounce of will to not wince away from the woman's touch. "I do remember something about a demon named Armastus. In old cylon lore, supposedly, she was a she-devil that...let me see if I remember the actual verse," Elosha looked at the top of the tent, attempting to recall it. After a moment, she looked back at Chaos. "'Ta võttis tundeid, ja katkestanud võlakirju. Millega jäätmed kõigile maal viimane.' "

"She took the feelings, and severed the bonds. Laying waste to all in the land of the last," Chaos translated out loud.

"You know Infiniscript?" Elosha was surprised, but her voice conveyed uneasiness.

"Yes. I've studied every language in the Colonies, though I know Infiniscript is just a language that was created by the Soldiers of the One. "

Priestess Elosha nodded slowly, and then stowed the book back in its place. She then reached into her shawl and pulled out a small brown bottle.

"Please tell the President that chamalla extract may cause very disturbing dreams as well as conscious hallucinations. And please tell her that she is in my prayers," her eyes were sad as she made her request. Chaos bowed her head out of respect, Cottle would be so proud, and then exited the tent. Once outside the tent, she uncorked the bottle and took a whiff of its contents. The stench made her eyes water, and she fumbled to put the cork back in. The President of the Twelve Colonies would be tripping out in no time.

************************************************** ***********************************  
Once again, Chaos headed to Baltar's lab, hoping to have better luck with the skin sample. To her dismay, the fidgety doctor had returned. He didn't seem to notice her presence; his back was turned to her and he was swaying back and forth.

"Dr. Baltar?" Chaos questioned. Gaius jumped at the sound of her voice and whirled around, her eyes wide.

"Ah, um, yes, may I help you, um."  
"Chaos," she finished for him. His eyes were still the size of dinner plates as his eyebrows knitted together.

"Yes, I suppose it is a bit chaotic around here, but..."

"No, that's my name, Doctor."

Baltar still had his default, dumbfounded look on his face when Six slunk her arm around his shoulders.

"Careful, Gaius, this...girl is trouble for us."

Gaius turned to her. "How?" he then turned back to Chaos. "can I help you again?"

Chaos neared him, and stopped at the microscope which still had her sample. With one hand resting on the counter and the other at her hip, she studied the doctor with calculating eyes. He was jittery, and Chaos felt as if she had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, so to speak. Though the guilt he seemed to convey seemed to stem from something much less trivial. Chaos knew who Gaius Baltar was back on Caprica; impossibly narcissistic and extremely intelligent. A victim only of himself, she thought as he looked her up and down. She had gone to a few conferences and symposiums regarding miscellaneous things, some for medical science and others for technological advances. This man was always leaving these things with groupies.

"You're working on a cylon detector, correct?"

He straightened his back and squinted at her.

"Your human religion praises her, but we know better," the Six seethed.

"Who, ah," his eyes darted around the room, "who told you that?"

"Everyone's known since the suicide bombing. Your lab was flooded with people, remember? I was wondering if you had a stronger microscope than this. I might be able to help you."

Six gave a cackle that belied the honey in her voice. "Looks like she's gunning for a repeat performance." Her hand slid down Baltar's chest, and he abruptly moved away from his hallucination. He was now standing directly in front of Chaos. Six crossed her arms and glared at the back of Gaius' head.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do," he shot Chaos a toothy smile.

"She destroyed us," Six flew to his side, her glare now directed at Chaos.

"That was you," Gaius squeaked at Six, "you, ah, who sent all those people here then?" he was now addressing Chaos.

"Yes, we needed the sick bay clear," they were now walking to a large device in the back of the lab.

"You need to read more about the cylon prophecies, Gaius. They all tell of things to come."

Gaius turned to face the Six again, but she was gone. Chaos ignored the doctor's sudden frantic demeanor, and placed the slide into the device. An image of the skin, magnified enough to see each individual skin cell, popped up onto a screen on the device. The doctors both leaned in to observe the molecular makeup of the skin cells.

"The membrane," they both said at the same time.

"The phospholipids are reversed," Chaos stated excitedly.

"Yes, they have hydrophilic heads and hydrophobic tails, instead of the opposite," Baltar concurred. Six was suddenly behind Gaius, leaning in to whisper into his ear:

" 'Riddled with death and marked with war, she will return to end it. Armastus will end the enemy of humanity.' "

"I don't recognize that," said a confused Baltar. He quickly pointed at the screen, "that. Right there, what is that?"

"That...that's a nucleus, doctor."

He laughed nervously. "Ah, right. Haven't done anything with biological science in a while. How...how exactly are we supposed to just get skin samples and examine them in this one device for every single member of the fleet?"

"I don't know, doctor, that's your job. You're welcome."

She was out the hatch, leaving the sample in the machine, before Baltar even had a chance to utter a whine.

"You must complete this project," Six was suddenly pushing Baltar into one of the chairs in the storage locker.

"Changed our mind, have we?" Baltar inquired, feeling very jerked around. Six didn't answer, and instead smiled devilishly as she undid his tie.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Laura Roslin sat at her desk, staring angrily at the fuel consumption reports on her desk. How was it possible that fuel and food shortages gave the fleet grief on a daily basis, and yet there always seemed to be a surplus of paper for her to sift through? She had more important things to worry about, like the convenient innocence of Baltar. Laura couldn't quite explain it, but she knew there was something dangerous about that man. As much as she hated the irrationality of her thoughts, she simply couldn't shake them. She put her hands on her head, hoping that the motion would somehow clear it. Thinking about the cause of the attacks would do the fleet no good now; it was in the past, and they had to keep moving forward. Just as she was about to pick up one of the reports, Billy entered the office.

"Sorry to bother you, Madam President, but the Commander is here to see you. Shall I send him in?"

"Yes, please, thank you, Billy." Normally, unscheduled meetings with fleet officials would anger Roslin, but she found that she was not upset about this one. She felt herself warming up to the Commander; he seemed to want the same things as her, and she knew that, though it may be difficult, they could be successful in leading the fleet to "Earth." Her musings ceased as Commander Adama entered.

She stood smiling, and then gave him her hand. He was abouto salute her, but instead he gingerly shook her outstretched hand, and gave her a less intense smile.

"Commander Adama, what can I do for you?" she returned to her chair behind the desk, and he situated himself in one of the leather chairs across from her.

"I came to inform you that Dr. Baltar has completed his cylon detector," he stated without preface. Roslin's face was serious as she removed her glasses with one hand. Her other hand came up, and she rested her mouth on her fist.

"When can we start screening?" she said. Adama sat up slightly before he spoke.

"That's what I was hoping to discuss with you. Baltar needs something in order to screen people. He explained it to me, in that complicated and nervous way that he always explains things, but I didn't catch all of what he said."

Adama leaned forward, and the President looked at him intently. Gods, how did she not realize how cerulean his eyes were? She leaned forward as well.

"What exactly does he need, Commander?"

"A nuclear warhead," he breathed. The President's snicker quickly turned into a giggle fit, and the Commander's deep roars joined in. Roslin was the first to pull herself together.

"Why in the name of the gods does he need a nuclear warhead?"

"I told you," Adama began, evidence of his previous fit still present in his voice, "I didn't comprehend all that he said. Something about how the nuclear isotopes will somehow serve as an indicator. It will be easier for him to tell how the human cells are different from the cylon cells."

"Hm. If this situation involves nukes, then wouldn't this fall under the jurisdiction of the military?"

Laura didn't think it was possible, but the Commander smiled at her comment. A large, gentle, toothy smile that caused creases at the corner of his mouth and his oceanic eyes to gleam. She put her glasses back on, hoping that it would hide her unexpected blush.

"I was really hoping we could try to bridge the gap between military and government, Madam President. I know you think I'm some emotionless military dictator, but I think we need to be in this together."

Her face dropped infinitesimally, disappointed that he perceived that she thought so negatively of him.

"I never thought you were emotionless," she said playfully.

There it was again, that smile. If only he did that more often.

"Well, that certainly makes me feel better. Now what do you want to do about the warhead?"

Before Roslin could voice her opinion, Billy hesitantly poked his head into the office.

"Madam President, Commander, I'm so sorry for bothering you, but...um...Dr. Aerugo is here to see you."  
He flashed a look at the President; Chaos was delivering the chamalla, and she certainly didn't want the Commander knowing that.

"She might be able to clear up some things about the need for the warhead. She was the one who took the skin sample from the cylon in the morgue," voiced the Commander.

Roslin raised her eyebrows, and thinking fast, gave Billy instructions.

"Thank you, Billy, would you please take the allergy medication that she brought for me, and then send her in?"

Billy raised an eyebrow at her, but then gave her an affirmative nod. The Commander, who had turned to look at Billy, returned his attention to the President.

"All plant matter has been burned in a nuclear attack, and you still have allergic reactions," the Commander stated as a fact, "must be rough."

"Yes, it is, I'm severely allergic to dust and mold."

Roslin was thankful that Chaos entered before the conversation had a chance to continue. She stood and gestured towards the Commander.

"Dr. Aerugo, I don't know if you've had a chance to meet Commander Adama."

"Yes, we've met," she spouted before taking a seat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, still facing the President. Adama met the President's eyes, and they both shrugged. Chaos planted her left elbow on the arm of the chair and thumbed the ring on her finger.

"We were hoping that you could help us clarify some things about the cylon detector that Dr. Baltar has developed," the President requested.

Chaos sniggered before answering. "Is it about the warhead? I was wondering how he was gonna broach the subject with you. You guys did throw him in the brig, after all."

"With rational reason," Roslin defended herself. Chaos put her hands up in mock surrender.

"Hey, you do what you need to do, I just found the awkwardness of the situation to be entertaining."

"Then you won't mind explaining to us where the warhead comes into play in the cylon detection process?" the Commander chimed in.

"Nope, in fact it's quite simple. The membranes of cylon cells are reversed, in a way. The radioactive substance in the warhead would serve as a way to indicate a cylon or a human without needing people to send us a chunk of their skin. I know a process that isolates certain less harmful molecules from the nuclear one, and we can then use it directly on people's skin. If it stays on the surface of the skin, then the subject isn't a cylon. If the skin absorbs the substance, however, this means that the formerly radioactive substance is binding to the hydrocarbon tails of the skin cells, and the subject is a cylon. Get it?"

The President and the Commander both nodded in unison.

"Better, yes, especially since you explained it with less hyperbolic hand gestures."

Chaos smiled at the Commander, and gave what seemed to be a sort of curtsy with her head.

"Good, because I was only going to explain it once."

Roslin wanted desperately to wipe the impending sleep from her eyes, but she wasn't about to show any vulnerability in front of the Commander. Sure, they were well on their way to developing a strong leadership, but she still felt that their relationship was still slightly strained.

"Thank you for your time, you two," she said as they all stood up at once. The Commander gave President Roslin a friendly salute, and then exited the area. Chaos remained behind. The two women stared at each other, attempting to read the other's mind, it seemed.

"I'm going to quickly explain to you the side effects of chamalla, and then leave you to rest," Chaos bleated.

"Actually, there was something else that I wanted to discuss," said Roslin as she sat back down and removed her glasses.

"Sorry, Roz, but it's late which means I shouldn't keep you up much longer."

"I'm not a child, Chaos, I am a mature adult and I know my body's limits."

"When was the last time you slept?"

At that question Roslin actually hesitated. She couldn't remember the last time her head even touched a pillow. Gods, how long had she even been the President?

"I assure you, I have been getting sufficient rest."

"Ever the politician, with the endless placation. Not that I even need a medical license for this, but I can deduce from your baggy eyes and pale face that you are overly exhausted. The stress from having the Presidency thrust upon you and having to face your own mortality is starting to crush you. These things are true, by the way, whether you care to admit it or not."

Cottle was right about this girl. She was abrasive and impossibly elitist. But godsdamnit, she was too frakking insightful and intelligent. And right. Roslin didn't appreciate being proven wrong.

"Fine. I'm exhausted. I'm stressed. It comes with the job. However, I can't just allow these things to get in the way of my leading of the fleet."

"What you just said is completely illogical. How is listening to the doctor's orders going to get in the way of your leading of the fleet? It's doing the opposite that's going to be detrimental to the fleet. Listen, Billy has your chamalla. Mix only a pinch of it with some tea. You may experience vivid dreams when you sleep, as well as hallucinations when you are awake."

"Will this affect my mental state so much that I won't be able to work?"

"No, you should be fine. Normally, people hallucinate things that can't possibly be there. So just use good judgment. Everything should be fine, as long as you don't start thinking that the visions you have in your sleep mean that you're some sort of prophet," Chaos' sarcastic tone seemed to be infused with a small amount of antagonism.

Roslin leaned back in her chair, and she noticed Chaos squirm slightly under her gaze. Good.

"Are you uncomfortable with religion, Chaos?"

"I wouldn't say uncomfortable," Chaos answered quicker than Laura had anticipated, as if she knew the President was going to ask that, "I don't believe in the gods."

Roslin smiled at Chaos, happy to learn something about her future godsdamned therapist. Cottle had yet to inform Chaos of her new assignment, so Roslin wanted to surreptitiously gather as much information on the girl before they started their sessions.

"I was never much for religion myself."

"Fascinating. I'm going to leave now. And if you don't rest, I'll make Billy sleep with you," and with that she swiftly exited the room. Roslin sighed and finally rubbed her eyes. So much for gathering intel. She then reluctantly got up from her desk, and went to get ready for bed. But only because she wanted to spare Billy.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
Again with the allergy medication, thought Adama as he looked over CAP rotation schedules in his quarters. He knew there had to be something going on with the President, and whether she was terminally ill or a drug lord, he was going to find out. He took a sip of his scotch, and bared his teeth at the burn. It quickly died down as the liquid slithered its way to his stomach. The comm went off before he could take another sip.

"Adama," he snapped into the receiver.

"Sir, it's Captain Fika of the Gemenon Traveler. I'm calling to inform you that we have found and captured one of the known humanoid cylons. Do you have any instructions for us?"

Adama jerked up from his desk chair. Executing the thing was clearly the best choice in this situation, but he knew that he should consult the President.

"Hold it in your brig until further instruction. Thank you, Captain."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

Once the line went dead, he requested that Dee connect him to the President.

"Ah, Commander, this is Billy. The President is resting at the moment, is there anything I can do?"

"Yes, Billy, please inform her that the cylon we know as Leoben has been captured on the Gemenon Traveler. It is currently being held there."

"Um, I...I'll go wake her up then, Sir. She'll want to meet you on the Gemenon Traveler."

"That won't be necessary, it's too dangerous for the President of the Colonies to board a ship with a known cylon aboard."

"I'll try to convey that to her, sir, but I already know what the outcome will be. Thank you, Commander."

The Commander found himself standing at his desk with the blank line to his ear. That poor kid didn't know what he was getting himself into when he became the aid for the Secretary of Education.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update, I had an extremely hard time writing this chapter. It takes place before the fall.

CHAPTER 10

There was no way in hell that girl had an medical degree. She was smart, he'd give her that, but he couldn't believe that some eighteen-year-old was a licensed physician. Then again, he never did find out her age. Although her physical recovery was complete, she had yet to remember anything vital about her life. Even her own name still escaped her, but occasionally she would conjure sparse memories. After she had spent two weeks in the hospital, Cottle decided to move her to the psychological ward. There, she spent most of her time writing down dreams in the notebook he had given her, but she refused to share any with him. After being moved, the girl seemed to be much more antisocial and uncooperative.

The first time her brain rewarded her with a small recollection was the day after they had first talked. She had informed one of the nurses that she had moved to the town of Andromeda after graduating from secondary school. Unfortunately, that was all she could remember, and it certainly wasn't enough to figure out who she was. Two days later, when Cottle decided to check up on her, she told him that she received her M.D. from the University of Aerilon in Gaoth. Naturally, he scoffed at her; Aerilon was known for its crap educational system. However, when Cottle brought that up, the patient quirked an eyebrow.

_"Aerilon is home to the most brilliant minds in the colonies. Not to mention the highest graduation rates for secondary and tertiary school," she claimed. _

_ Cottle narrowed his gaze and studied the girl's face. She was articulate and seemed intelligent, and yet the words coming out of her mouth made him think that he should have sent her to the Delphi Convalescent Institute. _

_ "Kid, if I could, I would take you to that wasteland right now and show you what I mean. All Aerilon's good for is giving food to the rest of the colonies and making some damn good booze. That's it." _

_ Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to come up with a response. When none came, Cottle placed a hand on her shoulder, and assumed that she was just getting the colonies confused. Without so much as a nod or shake of her head, the girl simply made a guttural sound and stared ahead. _

Small pieces of her life started coming to her one by one; she lived in a white house on a plantation. A man with bright blue eyes lived in the house with her. Even a few visions of standing in some university courtyard came to her in her dreams.

Yesterday, Cottle had walked into her room to find her crying, twirling the ring around her finger. After a moment of hesitation, he crossed the threshold and stiffly sat in the chair next to the patient's bed. They sad in silence, only the sound of the girl's soft whimpering filled the room.

_"Would you feel better if you told me what you remember?" he had asked. Cottle knew it was paramount for him to be gentle, so he summoned all the tenderness he had in his body. _

_ "I don't remember anything," she had finally let out between a sniffle, "I just...I feel very sad. My eyes won't stop watering and I can't shake this feeling of...of...I don't know, melancholy."_

_ Cottle felt lost; it was new for him to feel a genuine desire to cheer someone up. With intense reservation, he slowly reached out and took her right hand in his. "I'm no psychologist, clearly, but it's possible that you're subconsciously remembering something painful," he suggested. He was having a hard time finding more comforting words to give distraught girl, but she seemed to accept his hypothesis. "It also sucks to be stuck in a frakking hospital for so long, so maybe you're just getting a bit stir crazy."_

_ Her bottom lip poked out in a small frown, and she tilted her head. "A hospital," she breathed, "I think I worked at some dumpy hospital."_

Cottle strode through the hallway after seeing a patient, intent on returning to the solace of his office. One of the nurses, he forgot her name, smiled as she took the file he was holding. He was the godsdamned Dean of Medicine, wasn't he suppose to strike fear in the hearts of his staff? Naturally, he gave a mere grunt in return, and made his way toward his office. All Cottle wanted to do was grab his cigs and smoke a whole pack in the fire escape, but of course he couldn't do that. His batshit crazy patient was standing in front of his desk, facing him and smiling widely. She was clutching her beloved notebook to her chest, and her smile only grew as he walked towards her. Make that two packs of cigarettes. Her strawberry-brown hair was combed, for once, and her auspicious, metallic eyes were gleaming. It was the first time he had seen her without hospital apparel. Looking at her now, standing tall, with her normal, tan skin color and above average height, Cottle saw that she was a very attractive girl. He shook the idea from his head; a thirty-one-year-old man shouldn't be ogling teenage girls.

"I have a proposition for you," she began as she crossed the room to sit in the metal chair in front of his desk. Cottle sauntered past her and yanked open one of his desk drawers.

"Are you finally going to tell me what you write in that frakking notebook?" he growled as he shuffled through his belongings, searching desperately for some cigarettes.

"No," she answered quickly and with a bit more force than she intended. She put a lock of hair behind her ear, and then spoke again: "it has nothing to do with that. It's about my future here."

"I'm not going to like this, am I," Cottle groaned.

"There's a chance that you may object, but I figured I had nothing to lose," she responded as she slouched her shoulders.

Cottle regarded her as he dug through his drawer, trying to guess what she wanted. Over the course of the week that she had spent in the psych ward, nine psychologists were hired to help her jog her memory. Every single one of them had quit, claiming that the girl was insulting of their techniques, and heavily conceited about her own intelligence. Once of them had even received a punch to the nose when he tried to read the girl's notebook. Outwardly, she had seemed so kind and calm, but it was possible that the negative personality change meant that her mind was reverting back to her original mental state. Though her attitude was becoming difficult to deal with, it signified that she was making progress.

"Then let's get it over with," Cottle replied thoughtlessly, pulling the coveted pack of cigarettes from his desk.

"I remembered a few more things. Firstly, in addition to an M.D., I also have PhD's in molecular biology and psychology."

Cottle was in the process of pulling a stick out of the pack, but he dropped the entire thing when she finished her sentence. President Odin must really be getting his shit together with Colonial education.

"You have three doctorates, and you're not even twenty yet?" he managed to choke out as he leaned down to retrieve his cigarettes.

"You don't know how old I am. And yes. Excuse me for being a genius."

"How old are you, then?"

"How old are you?"

Cottle rolled his eyes as he lit a cigarette.

"I'm pretty sure you can't smoke in hospitals, Doctor," she smiled as she scolded him facetiously.

"I'm the damn Dean of Medicine, I make the rules," he exhaled with his eyes closed, trying to relax. "Tell my your so-called proposition already."

"Okay, okay. Honestly, I can't see myself remembering anything glaringly about myself, so I figured I might as well start over. A clean slate, if you will. I think you should hire me. And don't tell me you don't need anyone, because I've already observed how short-staffed you are.

Dr. Cottle maintained a blank face as she finished, and blew out a flurry of smoke without changing his expression. Before returning the cigarette to his mouth, he released a raspy guffaw.

"You want me to hire you? As what, a janitor? That's the only job I can think of that requires neither credentials nor a name. You haven't really been here that long, anyway, it can take years before an amnesia patient remembers who they are."

"I don't want to wait that long to get my old life back, so I think it would be in my best interest to start a new one. And absolutely not," the girl huffed, "you need surgeons. I'll work for you as a surgeon."

"That's a definite and irrevocable _no. _You have no form of identification, you could be some sort of serial killer and neither of us know it."

"Don't you think that's a little hyperbolic?"

"Anything's possible," he puffed, leaning back in his chair.

"I thought you were the Dean of Medicine," she cooed, tapping her fingers on his desk.

"I am, so what?"

"I thought that meant you make the rules. Therefore, you can hire someone without identification."

Cottle squinted as he took another drag, he didn't appreciate having his words turned against him.

"Okay, fine. You're right. In fact, one of the receptionists is an illegal Sagittaron immigrant. But that wasn't the only thing preventing me from even considering hiring you. You have no tangible proof of your schooling. I can't hire a surgeon, or any other doctor, for that matter, if I'm not positive that they can perform the necessary tasks. How can I be sure that you remember how to be a doctor if you can't even remember your family?"

The Aerilonian sat up straighter and placed both of her hands in her lap. Cottle was already done with his cigarette, and was putting it out on an ash tray on his desk.

"My surgical skills are still engraved in my brain, I assure you. What if I told you my job history? You can choose not to believe me if you want, but everything I'm going to tell you is true. Then, you can decide to put me on a sort of trial, make sure I can perform those necessary tasks of yours."

Cottle lit another cigarette as he stared out the window. Allowing her to recount her job history may jog other memories, not to mention he was embarrassingly curious as to what she was going to tell him.

"Alright, alright, tell me about your previous jobs, and I'll consider your idea. Maybe it'll convince me that you aren't completely nuts."

"Can't make any promises," she replied as she looked the ceiling, trying to decide where to begin.

"First, I got my M.D. and PhD in molecular bio roughly around the same time at the University of Aerilon. I was the head of surgery...I think it was Perseus Hospital in Promethea. Then...I...I remember I moved to Andromeda, but I don't remember when or why. There, I went to the Athenian University and got my PhD in psychology. After that, I was a psychologist...of some sort...frak, I don't remember that either. While I did that, though, I was also a Professor of Endocrinology at the Athenian. Those are the last two jobs I remember having."

Surprisingly, Cottle didn't doze off during her spiel. His second cigarette had long since been finished, and he was leaning over his desk, listening intently. The girl crossed her arms and her legs and observed the doctor impassively, drumming her fingers on the spine of her notebook.

"Is that all?" he asked sarcastically. A suppressed giggle made its way out of her smirk. Covering his hands in his face, Cottle leaned back in his chair and groaned.

"I don't understand how the hell you were able to do all that in such a short amount of time. I mean, you can't be older than twenty. If that's true, though, then I guess it's quite impressive. I can see you as a psychologist, what with your apparently rich emotional spectrum."

"School doesn't take that long for people who already know everything," she smirked at him.

"You don't even remember your own name, kid, so you're far from knowing everything."

"Not before my little accident," she mumbled, "so when can I start?"

A drawn-out sigh escaped from Cottle's iodine-stained lips.

"I can't frakking believe that I'm about to do this, but fine. I'll assess your abilities tomorrow, and then go from there."

"Perfect," she beamed.

"Don't go thinking I'm doing this for you, though. I just desperately need a surgeon. Everyone else in the colonies either wants to join the frakking military, or build frakking robots."

"Didn't you tell me once that you were a medic in the military?" the girl teased as she stood.

"That's different, I never had to dive headfirst into some politically-fueled battle," he paused and looked at the girl, who was standing as if she wanted to leave. "If I decide to let you work here, you're gonna need a name. It'll make it easier for you to make friends with all my lovely nurses," he waved his hand around.

"Should I make up a fake one then?" she asked with knitted eyebrows.

"Nope, I have the perfect name for you," the doctor smirked. The girl's eyebrows came even closer together as she frowned at Cottle.

"I'm not some sort of pet, doctor."

"No, but you'll be my inferior, which is pretty much the same thing. Your name is now Chaos. I don't care whether you like it or not, because that's what I'm going to call you from now on."

"Chaos," she repeated with a smile, "too bad I like it."

"Well thank the gods for that I'll see you tomorrow at eight o'clock sharp, Chaos," and with that, Cottle grabbed his pack from the drawer, and left her alone in his office. She smiled to herself, and felt happy that she not only had something to do, but that it meant she could spend more time with the grouchy doctor. She immediately grew attached to the name he gave her; it was quite fitting, considering recent events. Chaos found that, surprisingly, she didn't care if she ever filled in the gaps in her memories; she was content with where she was. And she knew that Cottle was, too, because unfortunately for him, Chaos could perceive how severely curious he was about her.

Naturally, Chaos had succeeded in impressing Dr. Cottle with her surgical skills. Three appendectomies and a heart transplant later, Chaos had officially become a member of the Caprica General staff. Her knowledge of the human body was unmatched by any of the top doctors that Cottle had associated with throughout the years. It wasn't just the mechanics of the organ systems that the young girl had a keen understanding of; she was very in tune with how the people around her were feeling. She would often return to the psych ward to observe and sometimes even talk to some of the patients. Most of the time, Cottle would kick her ass back to the O.R., but occasionally he'd find her in deep conversation with one of the more mentally unstable patients.

One patient in particular was an older woman named Marjorie Clement. The woman was around fifty, and had lost her son in a school shooting around fifteen years ago. She hadn't spoken a word since then. She was responding to none of the treatment, from group therapy to a one-on-one with clinical psychologists. Her own family had even given up on her, and stopped paying for her to stay in the Delphi Convalescent Institute. That's how she ended up in the asylum wing of Caprica General. The hospital board didn't want the woman to live in the hospital for free, of course, so they gave Cottle six months to figure out what to do with her. Cottle didn't give a frak whether she was staying for free. He took an oath, and as the head doctor of the hospital, it was his job to make sure she was taken care of. There was no way he'd be able to just kick her out onto the streets.

_ "All you blowhards care about is money. None of you are doctors, and therefore can't understand my concerns. Marjorie Clement is in need of some serious help, and just because her family sucks doesn't mean she should be thrown onto the streets of Caprica City," he had presented his case to the board, but the snooty Caprican men simply turned up their noses._

_ "And you can't understand our concerns, Sherman," one of the gasbags began, "money keeps this hospital up and running."_

_ "Dying people keep this place up and running."_

It had been three months since the board's ultimatum, and Cottle had assigned a number of different psychologists to assess her. As expected, all had been unsuccessful in getting her to talk, let alone acknowledge their existence. Contacting her family did nothing, they had all moved to Gemenon, and there was no way for him to find out whether there was someone else who was willing to take her in. He was on his way to the psych ward for one of his weekly checkups with her. She hadn't changed at all in those months, so he definitely wasn't expecting the scene he found when he entered her room.

Both Chaos and Marjorie were sitting at the small eating table that was provided in each room, and they were talking. Both of them were talking. They were having a conversation. The frown lines on Marjorie's face were replaced with creases that were stemming from the demure smile on her face. She was sitting extremely still and her body language suggested that she wasn't use to being in contact with another human being for so long, but hell, at least her vocal cords were moving. The sound of Cottle closing the door behind him caused their mouths to stop moving, however, and Marjorie looked down at her lap. Cottle had barely stepped into the room before Chaos was pushing him out of it.

"What the frak are you doing?" he growled through his teeth as Chaos closed the door behind him.

"I just got her to talk, and I didn't want you frakking it up," she answered as they both made their way down the corridor.

"How would I frak it up? I'm her attending, for gods' sakes," he whispered as they passed one of their colleagues.

"Marjorie isn't ready to talk in front of men yet," Chaos snapped, as if that were something that Cottle should already know. They had entered an elevator, so Cottle dropped his hushed tone.

"She never exhibited any weird behavior towards men before, what the hell changed?"

"Nothing changed." A swarm of people piled into the elevator as they stopped at the pharmacy floor.

"Well of course nothing changed, the woman never talked before!" his whisper returned, but the harshness remained, "how did you know she had a problem with men?"

"Wasn't it obvious? She never looked any on the male nurses in the eyes, only the females."

"Oh, well something as blatant as that, how could I have missed it," he said sarcastically as they exited the elevator on the first floor, "what's her issue with men then?"

They had both finally made it to Cottle's office, and Chaos beat him to his own chair. His glare pierced her skin as he fished for a cigarette in the pocket of his coat.

"You've been here for a year, haven't you figured out that no one's ass is allowed in that chair except mine?" he slouched his way to the desk, and reached down to fetch a lighter from one of the drawers, pulling it out far enough to slam it into Chaos' knee. She clenched her teeth in pain, but was otherwise unaffected.

"Evidently not," she spat, "but back to Marjorie. Did you know that she was at Little Goat Elementary School during the shooting?"

A large plume of smoke expelled from Cottle's mouth as he huffed in frustration.

"Of course not, how could I possibly have known that if she doesn't tell me anything?"

"I don't know, I figured her family must have told you that she was threatened at gunpoint by the man who shot up the school, and that she subsequently witnessed the murder of her five year old son," Chaos was now glaring at him, and he shook his head as he pulled the cig from his mouth. That certainly would have been valuable information, and it was just another reason to absolutely hate the woman's family.

"They didn't. Well, how the frak did you get her to talk?"

"Easy," she began, relinquishing the chair to Cottle, "I sat in her room until she decided to talk to me."

Cottle dropped his cigarette on the carpet, and let out a muffled 'frak' as he stomped on the sparks.

"That's it? Do you have any idea how many professionals I hired? And all you did was frakking sit there?" he sank into his chair and stared at the strange girl, who was now sitting opposite him.

"All those idiots barged into her living space and demanded that she speak to them. You cant' just make someone talk when they clearly don't want to talk to you. I brought in two meals, one for each of us, and ate while I just talked. Not necessarily to her or at her, just about random stuff. Eventually, she sat down and ate with me, and she shared some things."

Cottle was afraid that the disbelief caught on his face would be permanent. Chaos had been a constant thorn in his side ever since he hired her. She rarely respected his wishes. Whenever she'd disregard them, though, the most recent being 'don't bother the neurosurgeon while he's operating,' she ended up saving the patient's life after pointing out a bleed that the surgeon had missed. Her incessant narcissism made Cottle want to throw her out a window, but her behavior was something he'd have to deal with if it meant saving people's lives.

"Do you think you can have her at least somewhat mentally stable in three months? Enough to be able to live in her own place with some help?"

Chaos nodded, reaching across the table to grab Cottle's pack of cigarettes. She started stacking each of them, constructing a square structure, and the two sat in silence for a few moments.

"How have you been feeling lately?" the older doctor's rumbling baritone pushed through the silence as he suddenly decided to ask her about her well-being. It was something he had been doing a few times a week ever since she had left the psych ward. He wanted to make sure that she was adjusting to the change, and although it had been a year already, he still sensed some instability from her.

"Fine," Chaos didn't look up from her project as she answered him.

"Had any of those prophetic dreams lately?"

"Yeah. I wrote them down."

Normally, Chaos never shut the frak up, especially about herself. This amazed Cottle, considering she still didn't remember much of her past. No new memories had come back to her, so her identity was still a mystery. She was loud, and certainly fit in with his chatty nursing staff. On occasion, however, Chaos would become distant and quiet. Cottle deduced that the dreams she would have did that to her. He still didn't know what the nature of her dreams was, but it was clear that they disturbed her to a certain extent.

A few months ago, Chaos had brought up the dreams in casual conversation, informing Cottle that they seemed like visions. That gave him a better understanding as to why the dreams seemed to dishearten her so much; they conflicted with her atheistic view of the universe. Cottle became even more concerned about her when she started reading the Scriptures. Chaos insisted that it was simply a part of her desire to know everything, but her sudden obsession with them still made Cottle uncomfortable.

"Good. I'd like you to keep seeing Miss Clement. In fact, I'm going to assign you to some of the other patients in the mental health wing. Think you can handle that along with the surgery rotation schedule?

"Of course," she scoffed with furrowed eyebrows, "also, I'm coming over for dinner tonight."

"You have your own apartment now, why do you have to keep intruding in my living space?" he groaned. It had become a weekly thing, Chaos showing up at his doorstep with fully prepared meals.

"Because I know what an awful cook you are, and I know how much you like to wallow and navel gaze when you're by yourself. I'm making a spicy Tauranese noodle dish."

"I hate Tauranese," Cottle complained as he stabbed the butt of his finished cigarette into his desk


	11. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

"I'm telling you, Doc, Adama's orders. I'm going to the Gemenon Traveler to interrogate the toaster," Kara Thrace raged at Cottle, making quite a scene in sick bay.

"Alright, hotshot, if it'll make you cool your heels, go on ahead. Just keep in mind that the more time you spend out of here, the less time you spend in the cockpit," Cottle relented. The young pilot stormed out of sick bay as dramatically as she could muster while using a pair of crutches. Cottle reached for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket, but stopped this motion when he saw Chaos enter the wing. He strode over to her purposefully.

"Doc, I was just thinking about how hilarious it would be if Roslin were a cylon," she began, meeting him halfway, "I mean, think about it, she's the only government official that survived the attacks, and..."

"Hey, shut your yap for a second," Cottle snapped. Chaos frowned and opened her mouth to protest, but Cottle's uncharacteristic gesture of resting his hand on her shoulder shut her up. "I've saddled you with a job that you're not going to like. Let's go to my office." He turned away from the befuddled girl and they both walked to his office. Cottle sat down in his desk chair, and Chaos stood on the opposite side of the desk; she didn't see any other chair in the room.

"It involves one of your skills that you no longer like to use anymore."

The old man was being vague, and it was angering Chaos, but she couldn't imagine it had to be anything too horrible.

"What, are you gonna make me the President's therapist or something?"

The pursing of his lips was all the answer Chaos needed from Cottle.

"No. No way. Are you nuts? Me and the President? Talking about feelings? What the hell are you thinking?"

He held his hand up, once again shutting her up. Her eyes were wide and both her hands were tangled in her hair.

"Now, I know you gave up psychology a long time ago, but..."

"Yes, and for good reason! I've lost my ability to connect amicably with other human beings, and you know how disastrous it would be if I went back to being a psychologist. It's no secret that I can only pretend to like a person for so long before my hatred for them seeps through."

"I don't give a damn what you think about people, I've seen how you interact with others. And you know what? Underneath your cynical exterior, you are an extremely understanding and helpful person. You're not as misanthropic as you think. I've known you long enough to know that it's not the affectionate and altruistic Chaos who's the fake, it's the immodest and narcissistic one. And don't you dare tell anyone I complemented you, it'll trash my reputation."

Cottle had expected that Chaos wouldn't be keen on the idea of helping the President with her mental health, but he definitely didn't think that she'd be so adamantly against it.

"Tell her I can't do it. I can't. I can't sit with someone for extended periods of time and help them with their problems. Especially that lady. I know we won't get along, we're both too stubborn and opinionated. I'm clearly more intelligent, but I can tell she's somewhat astute.

"You're just afraid that she's smart enough to discover that behind all those walls you've built, you have legitimate concern for the people around you. I know that you have an extremely frakked up past, and that it contributes to the resentment and disgust that you may feel toward other people. I think it's time you got the hell over it and moved forward for once. The fact is, you're going to do this whether you damn well like it or not, and it won't just be a favor to the fleet, or even a favor to the President. You'll be doing this for me."

He prodded at the right part of her heart, and he knew it. The old doctor had observed many things about Chaos over the years, and the one observation that bewildered him the most was that she had stuck with him after all these years. There may have been times in their past when Cottle tried to prevent her from leaving, but in his heart he knew that there was always a way for her to evade his efforts. Cottle hated to admit this, but he saw Chaos as a member of his family. He couldn't quite describe it, for he didn't see her as a granddaughter, daughter, or even as a sister. Nevertheless, he cared about her more than he wanted to. He was certain that Chaos shared those feelings.

"Damnit, Sherman. Does she know about this?"

"Yes. I had to do just as much convincing on her end. You think a woman like that wants to sit around and discuss her past and her emotions? For all I know, you probably already know everything about her anyway, with that annoying thing you do where you..."

"Surreptitiously and meticulously observe everything about a person without needing to have a conversation with him or her?" Chaos interrupted.

"Sure, that. And don't worry, I warned her about all your horrible qualities."

"Gods, did you tell her about…"

"No. I didn't bring that up," Cottle reassured Chaos. There was a short pause before Chaos spoke again.

"And she still agreed to this?"

"I'm a master of persuasion," he said in his crusty tongue-in-cheek manner as he finally lit a cigarette. "This woman's been through hell and it's only going to get worse. I think that this whole thing may be able to help you out, too." He immediately regretted saying that last part. Chaos had already been frowning, but somehow her mouth found a way to downturn even more.

"What the hell is that suppose to mean? What do I need help with?"

"Oh, for the love of Zeus, would you wise the hell up? You know, you're probably the dumbest genius I've ever met. I'm not even going to explain myself. You're going to Colonial One tonight at 2100 for your first assessment of her. And you better not frak this up, because it'll be me whom the President will decide to unleash her wrath upon," Cottle growled as he rounded the desk.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you got us both into this," Chaos hissed at his retreating form.

Chaos stood there seething as the drama king exited the office. A doctor, a viper pilot, and now the President's mental babysitter. She could have done more to avoid that second responsibility, but Lee Adama would be flying CAP with her. She couldn't deny wanting to be around those oceanic eyes. Who was she kidding, she could ignore it for as long as she wanted, but it was inevitable; she was starting to feel almost empathetic for the people that she was being forced to spend her days with. After all, she had returned to practicing medicine vowing to never help a living soul ever again. Maybe practicing psychology again wouldn't be as calamitous as she was anticipating. Chaos could tell herself that it was solely her interest in the human body and the chance to see people suffer that drew her back to medicine, but maybe Cottle was right. It's the end of the worlds, godsdamnit, maybe it was time she finally got over herself.

Baltar sat in his makeshift lab, staring at the nuclear warhead that Adama had given him. The radioactive isotope was a bitch to isolate, and Chaos was the only one who knew how to do it. She only made enough solution for one test, and had instructed him to make sure it was safe to use on one person first. More solution would be made after her meeting with the President, whatever that was about.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" said Six, whom Baltar had just noticed was sitting in his lap. She stroked one of his cheeks.

"Beautiful? You think that a substance that I'm going to use to expose your people is beautiful?"

"No," she extracted herself from him, and picked up the warhead. "I wasn't talking about this; I was referring to god's plan."

Gaius threw his hands in the air, and then brought them down with a slap onto his thighs. "Of course," he breathed, "how could I be so stupid. Tell me, does god's plan involve getting laid anytime soon? Because, though these hallucinogenic trysts are fun, they simply aren't as fulfilling."

He was expecting the Six to throw him into a wall, but she stayed her distance. Her glare was painful enough, he found. As he stood and placed his hands on his hips, returning her glare, Boomer walked into the lab.

"Dr. Baltar?" she inquired with reticence.

"Yes?" his head snapped to face the pilot.

"Oh look, Gaius, god has answered your contemptible desire," Six seethed from behind him. Baltar swallowed hard, and rotated his body so that he was completely facing Sharon. She was still standing at the door.

"I heard that your cylon detector was completed?"

"Well, yes, um, I have yet to test it on someone, but..."

"Could you test me first? I mean, to see if it works?"

Gaius furrowed his eyebrows, and was about to answer, but the blonde cylon interrupted him:

"What's her rush?" she said, now standing next to Gaius, scrutinizing Boomer.

"Well, it...I'm not entirely sure that this is the absolute best way to...to..."

"You have no other ideas or ways of distinguishing cylon from human, though, right?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Then test me." Her tone had shifted from reserved to desperate.

"Alright, alright, just, ah, give me a moment. Take a seat on that stool, if you want," he gestured nonchalantly to a stool by the microscope. He carefully extracted some of the substance with a dropper, and turned to Sharon.

"Please roll up your sleeve, and give me your forearm," he commanded. She obliged, and he squirted the contents of the dropper onto her skin.

"How do you know whether it's positive or not?"

At the sight of the liquid beginning to sink into her skin, Baltar began to panic.

"Well, ah, the process is quite complicated, and it would take me days to explain to you. Also, you haven't the education I've had, so you probably wouldn't even understand most of what I..." he yelped as Six squeezed one of his buttocks.

"Quit babbling, and tell the girl the truth, Gaius. She's a cylon. She's one of us and she doesn't even know it." Her excited tone did nothing to quell Baltar's anxiety. He pretended to study the liquid, or lack there of, closely before he spoke again.

"Ah, negative, of course. You, Sharon Valerii, are most definitely not a cylon."

A smile that could have made even Cottle grin like an idiot graced her features.

"Oh, thank you so much, Doctor! And you'll be able to test other people in the fleet now?"

"Yes, yes. I will. This seems to be quite, ah, quite an accurate method of cylon detection."

She thanked him again with a nod, and exited the lab.

"Interesting choice," Six was behind him again, and her arms were snaking around his neck. Baltar simply stared at the spot where the first revealed cylon had been standing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * *  
Chaos walked defiantly into Roslin's office. She stood at the entrance, and it seemed that the President hadn't realized her presence yet. Her head jerked towards the curtain as Chaos cleared her throat.

"Dr. Aerugo, hello, I apologize. I was...daydreaming, I guess."

"It's never day in space, Madam Prez," she stated as she approached the desk. "Are you okay?"

Roslin had spaced out again, and nodded furiously before she answered.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. Just a bit...distracted."

"Clearly. You look like someone just gave you some shocking news."

You're right, I was just considering the possibility that the Commander of the Colonial Fleet may be a cylon, thought the President. Laura's eyes widened, and then she quickly composed herself, as if she were worried that the doctor could read her thoughts. She straightened herself, and pushed her glasses father up her nose.

"So, how do we start this thing?" she inquired. Roslin was the kind of person who built a fortress around her emotions, and allowed no one in. Chaos knew the type all too well.

"First things first, we aren't going to talk in here," Chaos gestured to the entirety of the room.

"Why not?" she asked, keeping her stoic tone. She wants to feel in control, thought Chaos, and staying in her office would allow her to feel like that.

"Because this is where you work, and it would be counterproductive for us to have our sessions in here."

"I understand," she nodded after a pause. As she stood up, the President motioned for Chaos to follow her through the curtain behind the desk. Roslin was being cooperative, but Chaos knew her complaisance had an expiration date.

"Are you going to make me lie down as I confess all my darkest secrets to you?" Laura joked. Chaos shook her head, plopped herself onto the sofa, and patted the spot on the opposite side of the couch. The President sat herself down in a much daintier fashion.

"No. You've never seen a psychologist, have you?"

Laura's warm, condescending laugh filled the living space.

"No, no, I've never needed to," she breathed. Chaos smirked at her.

"I'll be the judge of that," Chaos stated, making Laura's face drop slightly. "Okay, we're gonna start with..."

"Wait a minute, aren't you going to tell me about yourself first, Dr. Aerugo?"

Now it was Chaos' turn to have a giggle fit. "I don't do back story. None of that 'Dr. Aerugo' business. We both know I'm never going to call you 'President Roslin,'" Chaos' nose crinkled as Laura's title left her lips.

"Is Chaos Aerugo really your name?"

"Yes. Now stop asking me questions, that's my job."

"You don't think it's important for me to actually know the person that I'm going to be sharing some very personal information with?"

"No, I think it's very important, but I'm still not going to talk about myself."

Roslin narrowed her eyes, and had a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Cottle warned me about you. Stubborn, smart, and full of candor. He seems to think that our meetings will do something to help you as well, whatever he means by that."

"Oh, don't remind me, and don't try to turn this around on me. You're the patient, I'm the doctor."

"I think Cottle's bored and thought it would be entertaining to have us butt heads."

Both women chuckled at the thought.

"Well, let's not give him the satisfaction," Chaos stated seriously. "I know more about you than you think; I'm extremely perceptive."

Laura half-smiled in disbelief. "We've barely even talked, how could you possibly know anything about me?"

Smugness was a look that seemed to be tattooed on Chaos' face.

"Why don't you start by telling me about yourself? Anything about yourself."

"No, if you know so much about me, then why don't you start by telling me about myself?"

"Be careful what you wish for, Roz."

"I'm not fragile, I can handle whatever you want to say."

"Fine. You were dealt a death sentence right before your home worlds were destroyed. You've refused real treatment, and have instead chosen to take something that will most likely do nothing. With that information, it is clear to me that someone very close to you died of the very same disease, even on doloxan treatments. Your mother, I'm guessing? And it doesn't stop there, I know that the rest of your family..."

"Stop. Stop right there. How the frak do you know that," Roslin had taken off her glasses, and her emerald eyes bore into Chaos. The young woman's satisfied expression only served to make those emeralds burn

"I'm right. You think you can keep all of your pain hidden, but I can see right through your expertly constructed veneer. Your life has been poisoned by tragedy that started..."

"I told you to stop."

"You also told me you could handle what I had to say. It's your turn. We are going to discuss why you've chosen to mock your own mortality."

"Why is that something we need to be concerned about?"

Chaos rested her elbow on the back of her couch and used it to prop her head up. She studied Roslin through squinting eyes, a faint smile on her face.

"I guess it's not," Chaos said, standing up. "You're perfectly capable of handling your own past and your own feelings. You're going to die, and when that happens, you'll simply be remembered as the schoolteacher who failed to lead her dying race to salvation. But I'm sure you have the mental capacity to handle all of that."

Chaos had reached the curtain by now, and opened it to leave.

"Wait," Roslin pushed the word out and rolled her eyes. Chaos flashed a victorious smirk to the blank wall, and then turned to face the President with a complacent smile. "Fine. Fine. You're triumphant in your reverse psychological crap. I'd like to try to make this work, but only because I think it will indirectly help the fleet. If I take care of my mental health, then I'll be more inclined to make rational decisions."

"Of course," Chaos stated with mock sympathy. She returned to her spot on the sofa, and Laura returned her glasses to her nose.

"I don't want to go into it just yet, but yes, I lost my mother to breast cancer, and I had to watch her die slowly. I know it's irrational, but I don't want to suffer that same fate. I don't want doloxan to hinder my ability to work. And I'm not ready to discuss the rest of my family."

"Yes, it's irrational, irresponsible, and stupid, but you're completely justified. We need to work on tearing down these walls you've built." It felt so alien for Chaos to offer to help someone and mean it. Cottle could never know that a very small part of her yearned to cooperate with and aide Laura Roslin.

"What walls? I'm empathetic, if that's what you mean. I'm not as emotionless as people think," Laura defended herself as her shoulders slouched forward.

"No need to get defensive, that's not what I meant. It's not that you're emotionless, but that you don't let people in. You're not personable."

Roslin scrunched up her face. "I'm a schoolteacher, how can I be more personable?"

"How does being a schoolteacher make you someone that people can relate to? In my experience, it does the opposite. To a kid, their teacher is just the old hag who assigns homework. And you aren't a schoolteacher, you're the frakking President."

"What colony were you educated on that you had such horrible experiences with teachers?"

Chaos pointed her finger accusatorially at the President "Quit it. I ask the questions."

"Oh, come on, I just want to know what colony you're from."

"Then guess," demanded Chaos as she crossed her arms and leaned back. Roslin mirrored her motion, but not before adjusting her glasses.

"Caprica," she stated matter-of-factly. Her guess elicited an exaggerated groan from Chaos.

"What brought you to that conclusion?" she groused.

"Well, you're clearly an intellect, and you have an impressive education. And your accent...well, it sounds a little different than normal Caprican, so I'm guessing you lived in one of the wealthier coastal cities."

"So, what you're saying is, I'm an intellect from, what you think, is a rich society, and that makes me Caprican?"

"Well, it's not that cut and dry."

"Well, just for that, I'm not going to tell you where I'm from."

"Just because I used your positive qualities to guess your colony of origin?"

"No, because you assumed that only people as smart as me come from Caprica. I mean, come on, my _name _should be a dead giveaway."

"My logic is sound, and I don't know what kind of person from any colony would give their child a name as ridiculous as yours," she waved her hand in the air suddenly, "Oh, I'll just ask Cottle."

"That old bastard won't tell you anything. Back to you, though. The events that transpired in your past are what caused you to lock away certain emotions."

"As I've already said, though, I'm not as emotionless," Laura repeated, insulted that Chaos appeared to think that she was some cranky old harpy.

"Gods, Roz, I know that. You're kind and selfless and responsible and I can't believe I'm telling you this, but I'm only saying it so that you'll understand what I'm trying to say. Stop smiling, I'm not trying to be nice, godsdamnit."

The President's smile was gradually widening, and she shrugged.

"Is it not enough for me to have those qualities?"

"No, it's not," Chaos answered quickly, "you lack qualities that allow you to have lasting and meaningful relationships with other people. That's why you became a politician. Sure, you need to impress people, but you never had to show people who you really were. Everything about that job was emotionally simple. Short-lived. Convenient."

Chaos could see the President squirm as she spoke the last three words in a chilling staccato. The woman's teeth ground together as she considered Chaos' analysis.

Laura's mind traveled to a place that she had long forgotten, and had hoped to never think about again; her affair with Richard Adar. It was simple, short-lived, convenient, and she didn't need to open her heart at all. Tears were beginning to gather in her eyes, and Roslin prevented them from spilling in the only way she knew how:

"Are you suggesting that keeping myself guarded will prevent me from getting laid? If so, I should inform you that I'm well past the age where sex is on my mind at all hours of the day."

Chaos slowly brought her hands to her face, and echoed the words of Kara Thrace: "I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt, and pretend that you never said that."

Once again, Roslin threw her head back as her warm laughter poured from her mouth. Chaos rubbed her face a few times before dropping her hands, and looking at the President. Laura gave one last sigh, and made eye contact with the psychologist.

"You know, psychologists aren't here to tell you that you're wrong, or to make you feel like you should live with regrets. We work with what we have, and try to help our patients achieve a positive future. In a way."

A smile reappeared on Roslin's face, and then she let out a small yawn.

"Guess that's my cue to leave," Chaos said as she stood up, "I'll be back in three days. You better go to sleep after I leave."

"Can't rest now," Laura responded, following suit, "I have to start finding qualified people to fill the Quorum of Twelve."

"Billy?" Chaos turned her head to yell at the curtain, making Roslin flinch. The anxious aide entered the room as if he were expecting to find the two women at each other's throats. "I'm leaving. Make sure the Prez goes to sleep." She walked up to the boy and stood so that their noses were almost touching. "Can you do that for me?" Billy had to cross his eyes in order to look directly at Chaos, and she gave him a devilish smile.

"Y...yes, of course," he stammered.

"Thank you," Chaos cooed as she stepped back. She then turned back to Roslin. "I'll see you tomorrow, when you come to Galactica to see Baltar's science project. And until then, get some frakking shuteye." She left then, leaving a mortified Billy in the same room as the stubborn President.

As Chaos made her way back to the hangar bay on Colonial One, she stared at her feet. It shocked her that she was able to hold a friendly conversation with Roslin without having to give artificial comfort. Everything that she had said to the woman had come from the heart, a part of her that was suppose to be lifeless. The thought of unsealing her affection and showing it to someone other than Cottle scared the living frak out of Chaos.


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Adama had dealt with a number of crazy women in his life. On the top of that list, of course, was his alcoholic ex-wife. In a close second was a girlfriend from high school that had already decided the names of their theoretical unborn children. He would have gladly set Tigh up with any of those women if it would have prevented him from marrying Ellen Tigh. She had pre-gamed their dinner, and was currently feeling up his son. It was under the table, and it was only her foot, but the Commander wasn't frakking blind. He surprised himself by thanking the non-existent gods that the President was there. She seemed completely immune to Ellen's ostentatious disposition. Normally, Laura Roslin's upturned chin and tight smile would have instantly agitated him; he hated self-important politicians. On her, however, the facial expression seemed somewhat refreshing, as if it reminded him that not all women were as slovenly and boastful as Ellen Tigh.

"So, Ellen, we're all very interested in your story. How did you get aboard the Rising Star?" asked Adama before taking a sip of his ambrosia. Ellen turned her attention from the younger Adama to address the Commander, her eyes heavy with inebriation.

"Oh, someone just found me and picked me up. It's quite a miracle," she slurred, turning back to Lee, who loosened the collar on his uniform.

"How lucky for us all," grinned the President. Adama smiled at Roslin's comment, but kept his eyes trained on Mrs. Tigh. Ellen suddenly knocked over a bottle of ambrosia, which Saul was quickly able to catch before all of it spilled.

"Alright, Bill," Ellen began, resting her chin in both of her hands, "where is Earth, and when are we getting there?"

The Commander and President exchanged looks that didn't go unnoticed by Lee. The older Adama leaned toward the trashed woman.

"I'm afraid that information is classified, Ellen," he responded, downing the remainder of his drink.

"There's that word again," Ellen huffed as she waved her arm, almost knocking the bottle over again.

"The need for secrecy is pertinent, Ellen, " Roslin explained, "or maybe you haven't heard. The cylons look like us now."

Ellen quieted down and stared at her plate. "Yes, I did hear that. It's horrible."

"It is," Roslin continued, "any one of us could be a cylon."

That statement brought all dinner conversation to a screeching halt. Ellen could feel everyone's eyes on her, and her own darted around the cabin.

"Boo!" she shrieked, causing everyone except her husband to jump in their seats and wet themselves. Saul simply roared with drunken laughter.

"Thank you all for coming, this has been a wonderful evening," Adama stated abruptly, wanting the night to end already. The Tighs both shrugged, and gathered the alcohol before leaving. Ellen, of course, had to give Lee one last pat on the ass before exiting with a wasted Saul. As soon as the hatch closed, the President of the Twelve Colonies burst into laughter. Adama, though he was confused, had to chuckle himself, but only because her laughter was contagious. Lee simply stood and stared with raised eyebrows.

"I'm sorry," Roslin apologized as she pulled herself together, "I was just imagining what their wedding must have been like." Her laughter returned, and Lee actually joined her.

"Have you ever been to one of those colorful circuses on Scorpion? With all the half naked men and women?" the Commander asked her. Roslin nodded at him.

"Yes, why?"

"Then you've been to the Tigh wedding."

More laughter ensued as a Private came to take away the dishes, and Lee bid his father and the President a good night. As he was exiting the hatch, another officer appeared at the hatch.

"Sirs," the young man articulates as he gave them a tight salute. Roslin smiled warmly as Adama muttered a quick 'at ease,' and the ensign continued: "I'm here to inform you that Dr. Baltar has his cylon detection solution ready, and that he is prepared to perform the test on some woman named Ellen."

Commander Adama shut his eyes slowly as the President's widened; Roslin had specifically asked Baltar to prepare a test for Commander Adama. The two stood there in silence, refusing to look at each other, and the ensign gave another hurried salute before marching away.

Baltar finally thought he had a break from the leaders of the fleet until they were both suddenly in his lab. They were intruding on his work area, and they were having some sort of couple's quarrel over who thought who was a cylon. He had only been able to procure, again, one batch of the solution from Dr. Aerugo. Making more would have taken too long, and he knew that the President wanted the results on the Commander right away. When the Commander had asked him to test Ellen Tigh instead, he decided to just use the solution he already had instead of having another one made.

"Listen, ladies and..."

"Shut up!" Roslin and Adama had both turned to yell at him simultaneously, and then directed their attention back to each other.

"You think I'm a frakking cylon?" barked Adama.

"I think it's safe to say, Commander, that you've been acting...strange lately. What with all your off-log calls and..."

"Off-log calls? Have you been spying on me?"

"For the safety of the fleet, I've had you observed."

"Great. Well, your observations are completely unjustified. Those calls were on a secure line because I didn't want Saul to know that Ellen was alive just yet."

President Roslin squinted her eyes, for his confession only served to make her even more skeptical.

"It's not what you think. She's a bad influence on my XO, and I was suspicious about how she ended up on the Rising Star. I was always planning on reuniting them, but I could never find the right time. I just wanted to keep an eye on her. Then, I decided that bringing her to Galactica would be safer because I could keep her close to me."

"See!" none other than Ellen Tigh burst into the lab, dragging her husband behind her, "I told you, Saul! Bill's been after me for years!" she exclaimed.

Adama jerked his head toward her in utter disbelief.

"What!?"

"Now, now, everyone just..."

"Shut up!" this time the entire room ordered Baltar not to talk. The arguments and accusations continued for only a moment, because Tigh and Adama were suddenly called to the CIC. The three women and Baltar were left in the lab. Baltar's narcissism actually left him for a moment, and he wished that he had died back on the Colonies.

"I'm going to continue the test on Mrs. Tigh, here, then," he said, his voice shaking, "because I only have enough of the test solution for one person, and Commander Adama isn't here at the moment." Neither woman protested. They stood their ground, staring at each other with their arms crossed.

"Very well, then," said the President, continuing to eye the drunk blonde woman. The headiness of Ellen's eyes was replaced with rage as she stared back at Roslin.

"Wonderful," said Baltar facetiously. As he prepared the test, he eyed the President, who was now removing her glasses.

"You're incorrigible, Gaius," Six chided into Baltar's ear.

"Really. Regale me on your analysis of my behavior, then," he whispered flippantly.

"The President," she stated simply. He finished siphoning the solution into a pipet, and then turned to the cylon.

"What the hell about the President?"

"You actually want to find out if she's a real redhead," Six accused with a wicked smile. Baltar, in the midst of choking on his own saliva, dropped the glass pipet from his hand. It shattered as it hit the floor, and the substance splattered all over the place. The four stood there, staring at the mess.

"Ah, I...we..." Baltar stammered.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Doctor!?" Ellen finally screamed, leaning toward him with her teeth bared. Gaius jumped back in fear; Mrs. Tigh had the longest frakking nails he'd ever seen. And tearing his face off in his lab wasn't what he had in mind when he imagined being scratched by them.

The doctor, only for a microsecond, believed in the gods when he spotted Chaos at the entrance of the lab. She was holding a new batch of the solution, and her eyes were unusually large. Baltar didn't register that she was shaking her head back and forth before he called out to her.

"Dr. Aerugo, thank the gods!" he shrieked, and the two women turned to see the girl slap her forehead with her free hand.

"Chaos?" Roslin questioned as she held her glasses to her face without putting them on.

"Hey, Roz, I was just delivering the solution," Chaos answered tensely as she made her was to the counter and set down the full beaker.

"Delivering it from where," the President's glasses were now on her face completely, and she was currently cocking her eyes through the frames.

"It's dangerous to use work with radioactive elements in a battlestar, especially here in this pathetic excuse for a laboratory. Flammability, and all. Sick bay is the safest place to make it. Your lovely doctor, here," she gestured toward Baltar, who smirked awkwardly as he listened to her little narrative, "makes the solutions, leaves them in sick bay until the ingredients assimilate completely, and then I bring them here. We don't trust the idiot medics to deliver them, so I've been saddled with the job."

With her expertly crafted spiel over with, she put her hands on her hips and scowled at the adults in the room. If the President knew that Baltar wasn't the one making the solution, then she'd be chained to the lab with the lunatic. Chaos could see the urgency in the woman's eyes, so she turned to tell the doctor that he could proceed with the test.

"Wait, I know you!" Ellen blurted out. Chaos swallowed her words, and then rotated her head to look at the woman. "You were on the Rising Star!"

"Yes, I was," Chaos said as she narrowed her eyes in thought, "You were the woman in the coma."

"What? You two know each other?" Roslin's eyes widened in skepticism.

"She was brought into the Rising Star's emergency center by some old dude. Your dad or something?"

"No, I have no idea who saved my life," she breathed as she looked at the ceiling. Gods, this woman was a dramatic drunk. Though Chaos, and the President, for that matter, discerned that the alcohol probably didn't make that much of a difference.

"Weird. He stayed by your bedside and prayed all the time. Kept having to ask him to leave, the creep."

The President's curiosity spiked even more, but Tigh and Adama had returned before she could inquire anything more. Saul immediately went to his wife and put an arm around her waist.

"So, you a toaster?" he joked. Ellen just shrugged.

"We still haven't found out anything, this man insists on sabotaging the test at every turn," she complained. The President frowned at the Ellen's unwarranted impatience, desperate to know more about what Chaos knew about her.

"It looks to me like there's enough solution here for two tests," Chaos mentioned after pretending to observe the beaker, "I say we use it on the Commander and the President."

"I concur, Dr. Aerugo, they...they hold the highest positions in the fleet. It's only fair and...and right that we ascertain whether they're cylons first," he replied before anyone had a chance to protest. Adama and Roslin both glared softly at Chaos.

"If you two were cylons, we'd all be frakked, and you know it."

The two leaders looked at each other, and Roslin was the first to smile.

"She's right. Now that the fleet knows that the cylons can look like us, we should quell some of their concerns by proving that their leaders are, indeed, human," she offered him her hand.

The Commander looked at her outstretched hand, still affronted that she had accused him of being the very thing that he despised the most. They needed to move forward, though, for the sake of humanity. Ultimately, he reached out and he shook her hand amicably. He flashed her a smile as well, and they both spun to face Chaos and Baltar. The antsy doctor had already prepared two new pipets of solution.

"Please roll up your sleeves and hold out your forearms," he asked politely. The Commander and President obliged, and Baltar applied the solution simultaneously to their arms. The room was quiet for a moment; even the hum of the ship seemed to stop to hear the results.

"I knew it, they're both cylons," Chaos stated with undetectable sarcasm. Roslin looked frantically first at the drop on her arm, and then the one on Adama's.

"Are...how can..." she stuttered uncharacteristically.

"No, no!" Baltar exclaimed, waving his arms around, "the test is negative, I assure you!"

Chaos was then thrown into a fit of laughter, but only Ellen joined her.

"This is nothing to joke about, Lt. Aerugo, our entire race is hanging on by a thread," Adama flared.

"Lieutenant? Just how many titles do you have?" Ellen chimed in.

"Just one. No one else finds the idea of the two of you being cylons just a little bit hilarious? Like, out of all the people to be cylons, the Commander of the fleet and some woman who ends up being the President are?"

All of the adults in the cramped space remained silent, and the only noise that bombarded everyone's ears was the boisterous laughter of Ellen Tigh.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Sorry for the long hiatus. This chapter had to be rewritten multiple times, and I had an awful case of writer's block. Oh, and then I thought it would be a super cool idea to take a five-week organic chemistry course over the summer. Anyway, here, finally, is Chapter 13. All mistakes are mine, of course, and it takes place before the fall.

CHAPTER 13

"This is absolutely unacceptable!" Cottle roared at Chaos, who was sitting on the opposite side of his desk. She was staring down at her hands, which were clasped loosely in her lap. "Your behavior these past few weeks has been disgusting. First, you take a week-long leave without telling me, then you insult three of your psych patients, cause the death of another one of your patients, and now you're assaulting members of my staff?

Chaos looked to her right, avoiding Cottle's eyes, and stared out the window. Although he was absolutely seething, Cottle's glare began to soften as he continued to look at her. Her shoulders were slouching as if an invisible force were pushing them down. The whites of her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and they seemed utterly devoid of happiness. The eerie sound of some tree branches tapping against the window in the wind filled the room, and Chaos still refused to look at Cottle. She was clearly distraught about something, but Cottle hadn't had a chance to jump start his empathy. Instead of making a futile attempt at getting her to talk, he decided to light up. Sitting back, allowing the cyanide cocktail to fill his lungs, Cottle reflected on some of the events that had transpired within the past three years.

_Three years ago..._

Out of the eight surgeons that were currently working at Caprica General, one of them was currently the source of Cottle's chagrin. It was always the same surgeon, of course. Chaos was quite proficient at getting on the man's last nerve. He burst into the anteroom of the O.R. to find Chaos in a heated argument with Dr. Vetus.

"I've been doing this since before you were even a thought in your parents' minds! So excuse me if I don't think that your last-minute 'observation' is enough to completely stop the surgery!" the older man was yelling into Chaos' unreadable face. She took a step back and brought a finger to her cheek, as if to wipe away any spittle that the man may have gotten on her.

"Forgive me, Dr. Vetus, but that little 'observation' you just referred to is a frakking..."

"Alright, that's enough!" Cottle yelled when he approached the both of them.

"Dr. Cottle, thank the gods," Dr. Vetus breathed with an eye roll, "I've simply had it with this girl's insolence. She..."

Cottle immediately held his hand up before Vetus could continue. Though Vetus was much older than Cottle, he was no match for the Dean of Medicine's death glare.

"Now," Cottle started, looking at the two surgeons, "Dr. Vetus. Calmly tell me what you were doing, and at what point Cha...Dr. Mora interrupted you."

Dr. Vetus was still glaring at Chaos as Cottle spoke. His gaze lowered to her wrists, where he, not for the first time, noticed the amber markings there. Chaos yanked the long sleeves of her undershirt down, and Vetus looked back to Cottle.

"I was just performing a simple laproscopy on a woman in her mid-twenties, when Dr. Mora barged into the operating room." His upper lip twitched as he kept his anger under control, preventing it from seeping into his voice.

"I was sterile, by the way," Chaos added, and Cottle silenced her with another glare. He turned back to Vetus and nodded for him to continue.

"Anyway, she came barging in here and ordered me to do a laparotomy!" he raised his voice, but quickly caught himself, taking a few deep breaths. Cottle released a prolonged sigh.

"You wanna make a gigantic and unnecessary incision in this woman's abdominal area?"

"No, I want to make a gigantic and entirely necessary incision in this woman's abdominal area. She has an embryo in her ovary, which, as you both may recall, is not an ideal place for a fetus to develop."

Chaos had clearly used that line on Dr. Vetus already, because he clenched his fists at his sides before having another outburst. "Yes, I have a keen understanding of the female anatomy! However, this woman has appendicitis, and if I don't get back in there now she's going to bleed out!"

"She'll bleed out no matter what if you take out her appendix, because the internal bleeding is coming from her right ovary!" Now it was Chaos' turn to become frustrated with the other surgeon. Cottle successfully interrupted their impending argument.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute! Dr. Mora, how in the name of Zeus did you come up with a diagnosis like that?"

"I was watching from the observation window, Dr. Cottle," she stated his title with a hint of condescension, "and I noticed that she was bleeding internally."

"Of course she was! That happens when one is currently being sliced open," Dr. Vetus cut in.

"But you were doing a laproscopy. That's, like, the tiniest incision ever. Though I don't doubt your incompetence, how would you have nicked something? What's more, appendicitis doesn't cause that much bleeding. You also failed to notice that she was bleeding out of her vagina, so not only are you a mediocre surgeon, but you're frakking blind."

Both surgeons became quiet all of a sudden as Cottle moved away from them. They watched in silence as the Dean of Medicine crossly scrubbed up at the sterilization station.

"Get yourselves cleaned again, and then get your asses back in here," he growled as he walked into the O.R. Without looking at each other, Chaos and Dr. Vetus cleaned up, and then reluctantly reentered.

"Dr. Cottle!" both of the nurses said in unison. "We were...they left and...we started to..." one of them continued sputtering as the two of them continued to curb the bleeding.

"It's not your fault, ladies. In fact, it's my fault for hiring the two most immature amateurs in the Colonies."

Vetus' head dropped at Cottle's comment, but Chaos wasn't phased in the least. They all gathered around the woman's body, and the first thing Cottle did was lift the hem of the woman's hospital gown. All the doctors except for Chaos peered under the hem to see a red stain on the sterile paper of the operating table. Dr. Vetus slowly shut his eyes, but did not speak. After putting the gown back in its original position, Cottle moved to scrutinize the affected area. One of the nurses had started stitching up the cut that was on the woman's lower stomach, just above the appendix. Cottle gave her a quick 'thanks,' and then shooed her away. There was sufficient hemorrhaging just above and around the incision, as well as a raised bump.

"I'm one hundred percent sure that there's an ovary under there," Chaos piped up as Cottle continued to stare. He ignored her comment, and grabbed a large scalpel from the tray. Dr. Vetus' mouth fell agape as he watched Cottle make a large cut down the women's abdomen.

Later, Cottle caught Chaos just before she left the hospital.

"Hey, wait up!" he yelled as he speedily walked up to her. Chaos stopped at the door and held it open, keeping her eyes ahead. "Where are you going?"

"Home. I'm renting a shitty apartment that's just down the street."

"Oh," Cottle responded lamely. Chaos had been working at the hospital for only a month, and, unbeknownst to the board members, Cottle allowed her to stay in one of the rooms in the psych ward. Since she still didn't know her real name, the room in the hospital was under Jane Doe. The system was still in a clusterfrak after the union of the Colonies under a single government, so Chaos was easily able to get a fake identification. Alethia Mora, twenty years old, born on the sixteenth day of Spring. Cottle thought it was the most ridiculous sounding name, but Chaos told him that it was a Promethean name. Whatever the frak that was supposed to mean.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she muttered and walked in the opposite direction.

"Wait, Chaos, I need to ask you something," he called after her departing form. She stopped and rotated to face him, but did not move closer. Instead, Cottle walked up to her. "How the frak did you know about the ectopic pregnancy?" he asked her with a soft glare. The left corner of her mouth turned up in a mischievous smirk.

"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm a genius, Sherman."

Chaos then spun around and cantered off.

_Two years ago..._

"An ocean."

"What?"

Chaos was in Cottle's kitchen, pouring herself a glass of Libran vintage. He was sitting at a table in his dining room when he heard her speak.

"An ocean," she repeated when she came into the dining room, holding the glass in her right hand. Chaos sat down next to him, eyeing the piles of paperwork that he had in front of him. "I lived near an ocean."

Cottle reached over and plucked the wine glass from her. After taking a sip, he held it out of her reach instead of returning it to her.

"Sherman, what the frak!" Chaos exclaimed as she tried to reclaim her alcohol.

"You're too young to be drinking," was all he said, successfully keeping her at bay.

"My I.D. says I'm twenty, and the drinking age on Caprica is eighteen. Give it back!"

Cottle complied, handing the wine back to Chaos with a shake of his head. She gulped down the rest of it and set the empty glass on the table.

"That wine must have already gone to your head if you think you lived by a frakking ocean. There haven't been oceans on Aerilon in a really long time. Climate change caused the majority of the bodies of water to dry up," Cottle commented, "are you sure you're from Aerilon?"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure. I lived on a large plantation near an ocean. In the country of Promethea, where..."

"Hold up, hold up. Aerilon hasn't been divided into countries in about a hundred years. Chaos, your brain still hasn't fully recovered. Maybe you're just pulling information from simple facts that you knew before you had amnesia. Like from a textbook."

Chaos kept quiet for a very long time, tracing the insignia on her left wrist with her right hand. Cottle watched her though narrowed eyes.

"More likely, you're from Sagittaron. They're the ones who mark their children."

She neither spoke nor looked at him; Chaos slowly rose from her seat, and showed herself out the door.

_One year ago..._

"What's going on with you?" Cottle murmured, attempting a more gentle approach, "your bedside manner is worse than mine, and you've been so distant lately. Is it those frakking dreams that you never want to talk about?"

Cottle felt as if he should have seen some sort of breakdown coming. The girl had been working there for two years, and somewhere along the line, her demeanor had shifted drastically. Snapping at one of the patients was the first incident that Cottle could think of, but he had given Chaos the benefit of the doubt. He understood how idiotic patients could be, and this one in particular was refusing a procedure that was going to save his life. About six months ago, he had made her the Head of Psychology, and assumed that the extra pressure was stressing her out. Her behavior, however, had started its gradual deterioration well before that.

Though he was worried about how her patients were being treated, he was doubly concerned with Chaos' well-being. He couldn't find a word to describe their relationship; they were much more than friends, but definitely not lovers or anything. Cottle didn't quite view Chaos as a daughter, or even a sister, either. She was just...there. Chaos' presence use to be overwhelming, for she was constantly bursting into his office and showing up at his house unannounced. Eventually, Cottle decided to accept the fact that Chaos was now a part of his life, whether he wanted her to be or not. Cottle couldn't pinpoint the moment that Chaos' existence became more unobtrusive than overpowering Though he had a tough time admitting it to himself, Cottle spent the better part of his time thinking about her. He didn't want to press her for details about herself, but that didn't mean he couldn't wonder. Chaos was vain, and with good reason; she was easily one of the most alluring women he'd ever seen. Interestingly enough, even though she cared very much for her patients, Chaos showed deep cynicism whenever she was alone with him. Not that Cottle had a problem with that, he welcomed it like a pack of delicious cigars. Now, though, her misanthropy was beginning to seep into her professional life.

"If you keep ignoring me, I'm just going to come to my own conclusions, and I don't think you'll like where my mind is going," Dr. Cottle continued as he placed an unlit cigarette between his lips. Still, Chaos was unresponsive, and Cottle knew exactly what he needed to say in order to get her to talk. "I think it was a mistake for you to read those godsdamn religious texts."

Her head snapped toward him, meeting his triumphant expression. Bringing up the Scriptures was always a surefire way of getting her to argue with him.

"I know what you're trying to do. It's not going to work," Chaos flared, her eyes filling with rage, and her emotions spinning into a frenzy.

"It already worked, you're talking." He left her gaze for a moment to light his cigarette, but Chaos continued to channel all of her bitterness at the man. "I think that whatever you read in the Scriptures is confusing you."

"You're only saying that because you're an atheist, Sherman."

"You're an atheist too, Chaos," Cottle replied, matching her arrogant inflection.

"What about that memory you had a few weeks ago? You told me that you remembered something about your father. Said he abused you when you were a child. Does your atrocious attitude have anything to do with that?"

Chaos shook her head and directed her attention out the window again.

"What about the ring? You always seem to get extra irritable whenever I mention that thing."

"No, it's not the frakking ring! Gods, Sherman, would you just give it a rest?"

"Thanks for supporting my claim, and no, I will not give this a rest. You're my employee and you're frakking up big time. You told a bipolar patient to 'quit their bitching, because they'll feel fine in a second.' If you're going to continue with this downward spiral of yours, I'm making Dr. Quaedam the head of the psychology department."

"Good, Librans are more empathetic, anyway," Chaos snapped.

A large puff of smoke left Cottle's mouth with his sigh, and he shook his head.

"Chaos, please," Cottle started. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say; she was the psychologist, not him. He still wasn't quite sure how it happened, but Chaos had become a large part of his life, and he was reluctant to admit how much he cared about her. Chaos was struggling internally with something serious, most likely regarding those frakking dreams, and he regretted the fact that he never pressed her for details about them.

"I've been going to Apollo University for the past three months," Chaos brought up unexpectedly. Cottle hid his surprise by taking an extra long drag. If he questioned her prematurely, she may decide not to open up . "One of my classes is the Comprehensive History of the Twelve Colonies. We've just finished talking about Aerilon...and...it's one of the poorest colonies. 'The Food Basket,' they call it."

She paused, and Cottle was still waiting for her to make her point. All she did was frown at something on his desk, though.

"Yeah, what about it?" he coaxed as delicately as he could.

"It's just different. I don't remember Aerilon being poor, or anywhere near as disgusting as my professor made it seem. I lived in a large white house on a corn plantation in the country of Promethea. Now, the colony isn't even split into countries. Promethea, Ourea, Demetria, and Aetheria don't exist anymore, and they haven't for the past hundred years or so."

There was nothing Cottle could say to her. The two sat in silence, and only the aggravating sound of Chaos biting her fingernails could be heard. Cottle had never seen her this distressed before.

"What are you thinking about?" he inquired gently. Chaos removed her hand from her mouth, but her gaze remained vapid.

"I want to go to Aerilon. I want to see it...I want to compare it to the one I remember."

"It would be pretty difficult to get there," Cottle responded as he leaned back in his chair, "it orbits Helios Delta, which is a frakking long ways from here. About 140 SU. The transport system has a hard time going even 60 SU. You sure you want to make the trip?"

"No, and it's not the distance that's stopping me. I'm afraid of what I'll find there."

_Present Day _

Chaos stared at Cottle dead in the eyes, fully prepared for whatever verbal onslaught he was surely developing.

"Nothing about my actions has been-"

"Don't you dare tell me that your actions are justified."

"Yes they have been, Sherman!" her sudden outburst startled the words out of him, "All of the incompetence around here has-"

"You wanna talk about incompetence? First of all, a little gastrointestinal perforation during a colonoscopy does not make Dr. Mutto incompetent. And it certainly doesn't give you any justification for kicking him in the balls."

Chaos tried to speak, but he held up his hand.

"I'm not frakking done. Chaos, you gave you gunshot victim a lethal dose of morpha and he died immediately. That is the most horrific example of incompetence that I've seen in all my years of being a doctor."

"Who says it was incompetence?" Chaos deadpanned. Cottle's mouth fell open, and his cigarette landed on his desk. He was too shocked to notice that he was no longer sucking on arsenic.

"You...you killed a patient. You realize that don't you? You frakking murdered a patient!"

"Yeah, I killed a patient, and Mutto felt one up. Who's getting the severance package?"

The augmentation of Cottle's eyes seemed much more severe given that he had been scowling moments before.

"What did you just say?" he didn't know to which part of her statement he was referring.

"You heard me. I was curious as to why he had requested a general anesthetic for a colonoscopy. Then...I saw him touch her inappropriately."

"But...Chaos, there were two nurses in there with him. Knocking a patient out for this procedure isn't too weird, some people are extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of having a medical instrument shoved up their ass. In fact, I don't think anyone in the entire Colonial population likes colonoscopies. However, occasionally we get a patient that will refuse unless we give them something."

"I know what I saw," Chaos spat while crossing her arms. The dark circles under her eyes had been growing more and more pronounced throughout the week, and now it seemed that Chaos had rubbed charcoal just above her cheekbones. Even the usual glow of her olive skin had paled exponentially. Finally, Cottle wiped some ashes from his desk and placed the cigarette into the ash tray.

"I don't know what to do with you. I can't believe...you killed your patient."

"Euthanasia is legal, Sherman."

"You're right. Euthanasia is, regrettably, legal. Murder, however, earns you a guaranteed spot on death row in the Tartarean Penitentiary on the planet Styx."

"He deserved to die. I'm not going to bother explaining it to you, so you're just gonna have to trust me," Chaos snarled as she tilted her head forward, her messy, auburn locks falling in front of her gaunt face.

"I let you work here without any identification, credentials, or even an identity. That's how much I trust you, and lately you've been testing that."

Chaos' appearance hardened, and her eyes became unreadable. Pulling out another cigarette, Cottle sighed as he placed it in his mouth unlit.

"This is about your father, isn't it?" he brought up before really thinking about it. If Chaos didn't look so exhausted, Cottle was sure he would have been shivering under one of her icy glares. "He abused you, you told me that. I think you've been thinking about that a lot, and it boiled over. You thought you saw something, thought you sensed something, when you didn't."

She wasn't arguing with him. She didn't even seem angry at him for suggesting that her judgement was clouded. This concerned Cottle greatly.

"Tell me what you remember. Please, Chaos. You can't go on like this."

Her silence continued.

"If you keep all of this bottled up inside, I'm afraid that your deteriorating mental state is going to catastrophically affect you and the people around you."

Still no response, even after insulting her mental state.

"I can't stand seeing you like this," he unleashed his coup de gras with a whisper, and it was then that Chaos' carefully crafted facade crumbled before him. Her face twisted in anguish, and hot tears streamed from her injured, auric eyes. Cottle rounded his desk and quickly pulled her into a stiff embrace. The two had never hugged before, had never really touched each other. Immediately, Chaos melted into him and sobbed. Cottle had never felt so broken and helpless. In his eyes, Chaos had been the quintessential vision of strength, and to see and feel that strength leave her was heart breaking.

"I remember everything," she muttered into his shoulder once her cries had died down. She was still trembling, and Cottle instinctively held her tighter.

"Tell me," he breathed. He felt her shake her head, and he pulled back so that he could see her face. Even with red, puffy eyes and a crinkle on her forehead, Chaos was breathtaking.

"I can't. I can't," she whimpered.

"Why not?" he was impressed that he was able to keep up his temperate tone.

"You won't understand," she exhaled shakily as she buried her face into his shoulder.

"How do you know that?"

"If I don't fully comprehend my own frakked-up life, then I can't expect you to be able to either," was her strangled reply before her bawling resumed.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: I wanted to take the chance to thank those of you who have stuck with the story. It means a lot to me, and I hope you're all enjoying it. I certainly enjoy writing it.

CHAPTER 14

"You're all just a bunch of frakking sadists, you know that?" Starbuck ranted angrily from her cot in sick bay.

"On the contrary, young lady, I want you the hell out of here more than you do. Unfortunately, I took an oath to take care of brats like you until you make a full recovery, which you haven't yet," snarled Cottle, "why don't you calm down and just listen to the frakking wireless like a good patient."

"Frakking junkie," Kara muttered as Cottle walked away from her, lighting a cigarette. After wallowing in self-pity for a moment, Starbuck switched on the wireless next to her bed. The President's inexorable tone emitted from the machine:

"...has been found in the next star system, and it is apparently rich with tylium ore. However, the cylons have already built their...their own refinery on the asteroid. The Commander has determined that, because we only have enough fuel for two more jumps, it is imperative that we drive the cylons off the asteroid. The military is currently preparing a mission for obtaining the tylium. I'm sorry, but I will not be taking questions at this time."

The voice of Playa Palacios was now coming from the wireless, and Starbuck slammed her fist onto the device, turning it off. She stared at the most likely broken device.

"Frak," she said to herself. There was no way she was missing this mission; she was the best damn pilot in the fleet, and they wouldn't be able to pull this off without her. As she swung herself off the side of the bed, she grabbed some crutches and hobbled her way to the exit. Chaos appeared from behind one of the curtains, and Starbuck stopped in her tracks, anticipating a heated disagreement. Instead, Chaos gave her a saucy salute, and walked passed the pilot. Starbuck's scowl became more severe before she turned to address the doctor.

"Wait a frakking second, kid," Starbuck called after Chaos, who immediately turned as if she already knew that Kara was going to give her lip. The two stayed their distance. "Aren't you gonna stop me? Tell me I'll never recover if I keep this up? Kick my ass back to my cot?" Kara wasn't able to gesticulate with her hands, so she did so with her eyes. Chaos shook her head.

"As long as you're up there, I get to stay here. Plus, it's a lot quieter without you," she replied. Once again, before Starbuck could rebut, the young doctor stalked off.

Kara just rolled her eyes and continued her journey to the ready room. She felt a sudden tinge of apprehension at having to interact with the nuggets again. Though Adama seemed to have forgiven her after she admitted to her involvement in Zak's death, waves of guilt still ebbed at her heart.

Chaos was in Cottle's office fetching a file when he entered.

"I need you to personally deliver the President's chamalla again," he said with a lit cigarette at the corner of his mouth. Chaos threw her head back in defiance and sighed. She still felt as if the majority of her time was spent doing work that the medics should be doing.

"We just had our first session, don't you think we should give her a bit of time to mentally prepare for the next one?"

Cottle crossed the room and silently perused some of the papers on his desk. The young doctor stared at him inquisitively. "Are you going to tell me why I need to see her so soon? Or are you just going to keep pretending like you're looking for something?"

Cottle found the paper that he had supposedly been searching for, and skimmed it. He then lifted his head to finally direct his attention to the irritated girl.

"Have you no observational skills at all? The President stuttered during her speech and she refused to take questions. Both of those are highly uncharacteristic for her, and I can't believe you didn't figure this out for yourself."

Chaos was utterly bewildered at the old doctor. Her puzzled look only made Cottle even angrier.

"First off, as I've told you before, I don't listen to the wireless. And second, since when do you give differential diagnoses based on the frakking tone of someone's voice? In fact, why do you even care? Sound the alarms, the President got tongue-tied during one of her speeches. She's probably having a stroke, we should..."

"That's enough!" Cottle yelled. He didn't appreciate being mocked at all. "I have said about a thousand frakking times that the President's health is a matter of fleet security. As her doctor, it's my duty to ensure that she is able to perform her presidential duties. As her psychologist, you should damn well recognize that, too."

Chaos' look of bewilderment turned fiendish.

"Sherman, you dog, why didn't you tell me you had a crush on the President?"

Cottle pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, and put his face in his left hand as he exhaled.

"There are no gods," he muttered. Chaos left his office, but not before giving Cottle a small nudge with her elbow.

"Elosha?" Chaos called after the priestess as she entered the tent. This time, the tent smelled strongly of a Caprican weed that greatly resembled onion. She walked further into the tent, her eyes starting to water in response to the intense stench of the weed.

"Hello?" the priestess clearly wasn't there, but Chaos had no clue where she could be. She was about to return to Life Station when she heard a small voice.

"She went to talk to the President," a boy appeared at the entrance of the tent. Chaos thought, at first, that she was hearing things. Some of the aromas that priests use cause hallucinations and can sometimes make the user hear voices. Chaos whirled around to see if she was experiencing the latter.

"Elosha's on Colonial One?"

"Yes. You're really pretty," said the boy, blushing. He looked to be about ten years old. Chaos walked up to him and mussed up his hair.

"Thanks, handsome. Save that line of thinking for when you're helping repopulate the human race."

That was her philanthropy for the day. She left the confused boy alone in the tent, set on hiding from Cottle for the next few hours.

Laura Roslin and Elosha were sitting on a sofa on Colonial One.

"Thank you so much for coming on such short notice," said Roslin, who seemed a bit self conscious.

"It's no problem at all," Elosha's friendly smile caused some of the President's apprehension to disappear.

"It's just...well, I'm not very religious to be honest."

"You don't need to be religious to talk to a priestess, you know."

"I know, I know. I guess I figured you would understand my dilemma more than a doctor would. It involves the chamalla."

Elosha raised an eyebrow and shifted her position so that she was fully facing the President.

"You've been having visions, haven't you? Have they been prescient?"

"One of them, yes," she sighed, "I had a dream about the captured cylon, the one they call Leoben. It was before I went to see him."

"Very interesting...and the other ones?"

"The other one, I had while I was awake. During the press conference. There were snakes all over the podium."

This really made the priestess perk up, and she instinctively pulled the copy of the Scriptures she was holding closer to her chest.

"How many did you see?" she asked.

"About a dozen or so."

"Interesting..." Elosha's eyes narrowed in thought, but Roslin couldn't gauge the woman's thoughts. "You read the Pythian Prophecy, and now you're seeing snakes."

"Pythian Prophecy? From the Scriptures? But I told you I'm not religious. I've never really read the Scriptures. They were never a large part of the Caprican curriculum."

Roslin didn't understand why the priestess was suddenly so keyed up. The woman flipped through her text until she found the passage she was looking for:

"And unto the leader they gave a vision of serpents numbering two and ten, as a sign of things to come."

After reading the verse, Elosha looked back at the President. "It's just curious. The Scriptures give us metaphors as a way of teaching us morals. They help us understand mistakes that were make in the past so that we don't make those same mistakes in the this, too me, seems a bit literal," she chuckled, then, "but the vision was granted to a dying leader. One who was suffering from a so called 'wasting disease.' And you're certainly not dying...are you?"

Roslin became very silent, keeping her emotions undecipherable. Her lack of response, though, was enough to make Elosha draw her own conclusions.

"Could you read me the passage? The one about the dying leader?" Roslin asked as she removed her glasses with trembling hands. Elosha nodded, and quickly found the passage:

"And the lords anointed a leader to guide the Caravan of the Heavens to their new homeland. And that leader suffered a wasting disease, from which they succumbed, and was therefore barred from entering the new land. But not before the dying leader knew love."

The President of the Twelve Colonies stared incredulously at the priestess. She said she wasn't religious, but that didn't mean she denied the existence of the gods. The passage that Elosha just read, paired with the vivid dreams she was having, caused something to click inside Roslin's head. This was all just frakking great. Not only was she the President of a dying race, but she had to lead them to the promise land or whatever. And what was that about the leader not getting to enter the new land? _Oh, frak it, _Laura thought, _these are all just metaphors, aren't they? _Still, Roslin wanted to see just how relevant the Scriptures were.

"I have terminal breast cancer," she finally confessed to the priestess. Elosha's hand found her way to Laura's, and she uttered a small prayer for her leader. "Elosha...what is the homeland?

"Earth, of course. Wasn't it the Commander who told us he knew where it was?"

Roslin paused for a moment, and Elosha could perceive the answer.

"I knew it was too good to be true," she sighed.

"I thought priestesses believed in the literal interpretation of the Scriptures. Did you not truly think that there was an Earth?"

"I do not interpret them literally, I see them merely as allegories and personified thoughts; teachings regarding the cycle of time. Occasionally I draw parallels between what's happening now, and what was predicted in the Scriptures. Since the attacks, I've been under the impression that this fleet is the Caravan of the Heavens. I wonder what else in the Scriptures will turn out to be true."

All this talk about Scriptures and prophecies was beginning to overwhelm President Roslin.

"What about the last line in the passage, about knowing love? Is that what you meant when you mentioned personified thoughts?"

Elosha raised her eyebrows as if she just remembered something vitally important. She successfully schooled her features, though, before she responded.

"Yes, however, there are two main interpretations of that line," Elosha's eyes were sparkling, and the reason behind the priestess' delighted expression was completely lost on Roslin. The President raised her eyebrows, indicating that she wanted Elosha to continue. "The most apparent one is that the dying leader falls in love before Earth is reached."

The inevitable giggle fit from Laura ensued, but Elosha simply stared at her with a half smile.

"Right, right," she managed, still laughing, "my entire life was just incinerated and my race is dying, and yet somehow I, an old, dying woman, am going to find love." It took a few minutes, but the President finally found some semblance of composure. "What is the second interpretation?" Elosha's smile had waned while was waiting for the president to get a hold of herself, but a sly smirk crept its way back onto her face. The priestess, once again, opened her large copy of the Scriptures.

"This verse is not from Pythia, but from the eighth Book of Sage. I was thinking of the Sages when I brought up personified thoughts. Are you aware of the Sages?"

"Yes, yes, I thought that's what you were referring to. My sisters and I use to play pretend games about the Sages," a wistful, yet generally content, grin was painted on Laura's face. "I was always Alexis, Cheryl liked Allegra, and Sandy was Anastasia. I think I remember the others...Democritus, the Sage of Death, Demosthenes, the Sage of War, and Demos, Sage of Sadness."

"Yes, good. So..."

"Wait a minute, if there are only six Sages, then why are there eight books?"

"Well, the first Book of Sage is just sort of an introduction. The other eight tell the specific teachings of each of them. Ampelius, the Sage of Salvation, was once a Sage, and although she ended up being destroyed, her story was still recorded. The tales and teachings of the Sages are highly convoluted, and although I know the passages, there is still a lot about them that I do not understand."

The fact that the priestess seemed iffy on any part of the Scriptures rekindled Laura's misgivings. Elosha was the most level-headed priest that Roslin had ever met, and if she didn't fully comprehend the contents of the Sacred Scrolls, then it was safe to assume that none of the other surviving ecclesiastics would be able to help the perplexed president.

"Then what do the Sages have to do with love and the Pythian Prophecy?"

"The eighth Book of Sage is about Allegra, the Sage of Love. It references the Caravan of the Heavens, stating that she enters it on 'the ascension of the celestial asterisk,' and that love would aid you. In the Scriptures, the names of the Sages are used interchangeably with the emotion that they're associated with. I think that the Pythian Prophecy was saying that Allegra, the Sage of Love, is going to help you lead us to Earth."

Laura wasn't yet convinced that she was actually the dying leader, but Elosha's use of the second person still caused a shiver to run down her spine.

"So some deity is going eventually come help me, some supposed prophet, lead humanity to a planet that we aren't really sure exists?" Roslin stated with disbelief, something that was becoming a bit of a habit.

"I believe she's already here."

Laura was growing tired, not just of all the religious talk, but also from her illness. Press conferences took a lot out of her these days, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow the priestess.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I can feel her presence. Haven't you ever had a gut feeling before?"

Thinking back to the fiasco with Baltar and Shelley Godfrey, Roslin nodded. "It turned out I was wrong though."

"Well, you'll never know for sure. And the eighth Book of Sage states that Allegra is the only Sage to live completely as a human, and that she is to be shunned by the gods for the rest of eternity."

Honestly, the President hadn't really registered what the priestess had said about the Sage of Love. Her mind was too full of other things to think about love; like how she was apparently chosen by the gods to save humanity.

"I'm sorry, Elosha, but I am exhausted, and..."

"Oh, of course, of course, I should leave," she started to get up.

"Could I..." Roslin's words stilled Elosha's movements, "could I borrow a copy of the Scriptures? If you have an extra one?"

Elosha's eyes glimmered with happiness as she handed the President her own copy of the Sacred Scrolls.

"Oh, I don't want to…"

"Don't worry about it, Laura," the priestess waved her hand, "I have all the verses memorized, believe it or not. If you want to read the entire thing, you can, though I doubt you'll have time. I suggest reading the Pythian Prophecy as well as the first and eighth Books of Sage. They are the most relevant to your...situation."

The President nodded, though at the book rather than Elosha. The priestess smiled weakly at the poor woman, and then left silently. Laura opened the tome and began to read the eighth Book of Sage, but stopped after a few moments. She needed to get to Galactica; the tylium mission took precedence over the frakking gods.


End file.
